Loathing
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: I've always felt like Elphaba: an outcast in my school for how I look, how I act, wanting to be free. And yet I feel quite sympathetic with Glinda at the moment, because I simply cannot stand who my assigned roommate is!.:.eventual Kurt/Dave. college fic.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey guys! Dreaming-chan here once again. I try to keep the ideas outta my head, but while reading the amusing fanfic, 'If I Traded It All' by BreeZombiee, I came up with this idea. It's technically another future!fic, except this one is COLLEGE. Hurray!**

**And yes, this will be rated M because eventually things will get heated. Huhuhu. In the meantime, enjoy the tame angsty-ness that is forced-into-a-situation!Karomel.**

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**Prologue.  
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_Dearest Daddy and Carole,_

___I've always felt like Elphaba: an outcast in my school for how I look, how I act, wanting to be free. And yet I feel quite sympathetic with Glinda at the moment, because I simply cannot stand who my assigned roommate is, since he's such a complete and utter jerk who lacks fashion sense and creditability._

_I can't believe this is happening to me! I tried to bargain with the RA and just about anybody else in charge, trying to explain how much I detest, despise, hate, and _loathe_ the guy they roomed me with in my two-person dormitory, but they insist that all of the other rooms are already filled and they have an uneven number of males and females, and despite how much I insisted that I was gay and could easily (and even preferably!) room with a girl, they told me that plenty of guys lie and say that and sleep with the girls. Aren't they afraid that if I were telling the truth, I'd just sleep with the guy I room with?_

_I tried to get them to switch me out for another guy in another room, but no, it seems that everybody except me is totally fine with their roomies. Apparently, boys in this school don't give a rat's tail about rooming, and never make a fuss. Except me. Gaga, why does it have to be _me?_ And why does my roommate have to be _him?

_It's my former bully, Dave Karofsky, in case you were wondering. And yes, Dad, I know you will probably leap at the throats of the housing department as soon as you read this letter and spot the Neanderthal's name, but I assure you, they won't care. They won't even look you in the eyes as they flippantly remark, "Housing is full. No swaps, no alterations. Have a good day," in a flat voice. I know, because I've dragged plenty of people there with me, including Finn and Rachel and even asking a favor of Mr. Shue and Emma (she lets me call her by her first name now that I've graduated. It's nice). _

_I digress._

_The point is, I am very unhappy, but I'm much stronger as a person thanks to Dalton Academy, and while I'm beginning to question how Karofsky got into this prestigious school like I did without having someplace like Dalton to support him, I will continue to stick this out and give you frequent updates on the horrifying arrangement._

_With love,_

_Kurt._

_P.S. I dislike sounding childish, but… Dad? Could you send Bunny-Hops, my old stuffed rabbit? You know, the white one with the chocolate-tipped ears and scuffed pink nose? A quick run through the washer and dryer to clean him up and fluff him should be enough, and then I'd love to have him with me. I need the comfort of home without being there, and, I don't know… I won't leave it out or let him see, but I just want to know that I have it with me, you understand. Some peppermints would be nice, too. I can't buy any for myself right now, but I'm craving them. Thanks._

And with a tap of his index finger, Kurt sends the e-mail to both of his parents' accounts, praying that at least one of them remembers to check their accounts and reads his desperate vent letter.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1.**

"_Look,_ Hummel, I know you aren't happy with this little arrangement," Karofsky grumbles as he sets down the last cardboard box he has to move into the room. Kurt can hear things clanking around inside. "And you know what? Neither am I. I say if we just leave each other the fuck alone and keep to our studies, maybe laying down some ground-rules, we'll get along just fine."

"And by 'get along' I presume you mean, 'just barely tolerate being in the same room with each other?'" Kurt snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. He leans back in his desk chair and props his feet up on his naked twin mattress. "Well, fine. If it'll get me through this year with you, then I have no qualms or quandaries with some 'ground rules' being set."

"…Could you, for _once,_ use simple words, like 'doubts' or 'problems'? So you have to use fancy q-words like 'qualms' and whatever the fuck else you said?" Karofsky sneers, spitting the words in Kurt's general direction. "I mean, _seriously._ My brain is overloaded enough with getting my schedule sorted out and getting my stuff unpacked without you scrambling it up with your fuckin' poetic vocabulary."

And while Kurt is barely interested in the fact that Karofsky knows that 'qualms' are doubts and 'quandaries' are problems, and while he is barely flattered that Karofsky finds Kurt's way of speaking poetic, Kurt is not enough of either of these things to drop his current irritated temperament or do so much as quirk a brow.

Instead, he gives another disapproving snort. "_Fine. _I'll put up an effort to speak down to your fifth-grade reading level and use relatively _simple _words. Let's begin with: what rules did your tiny brain have in mind?"

Ignoring the insults of 'fifth-grade reading level' and 'tiny brain,' Karofsky relays firmly, counting on his fingers (which look oddly slimmer, like the rest of Karofsky, the previous year or so being kind to him while Kurt was away at Dalton), "One: don't touch me. Two: don't touch my stuff. Three: don't bring around any boyfriends. And four: don't eat my food. I'll do the same for you in return, although replace the word 'boy' with 'girl' in the third rule. _Capiche_?"

"_Si_," Kurt retorts sharply. He can do all that. It sounds plenty reasonable… except for the 'no touch' rule. Is Karofsky even more of a forgetful imbecile than Kurt thought?

Because Karofsky is the one who constantly initiated contact with Kurt back in high school, and further more, _kissed_ Kurt once (nearly twice, but thank Gaga the shock wore off enough at the time for Kurt to push the lummox away!), and besides all that, it's extremely difficult not to accidentally run into or bump the person you're living with. It just _happens._

It being relatively early in the morning, Kurt abruptly stands and announces, "I'm going out for a coffee. I'll leave you to unpack, which I _hope_ is a feat you can accomplish on your own."

"I can do just fine without someone's help, Hummel," Karofsky spits back, and turns his back on Kurt. "So g'head and get outta here. I'll be better off if you're not in here to get in my way anyhow."

"Just don't move around my stuff too much, seeing as how that's one of the _rules,"_ Kurt sneers, turning on his heel and exiting the room, dorm key in hand. He had gotten here a day earlier than necessary in order to unpack his things before his roommate arrived. It had been a great strategy to get settled in early; and now, Kurt was free to spend the last few days before school began doing whatever he pleased _away_ from his dorm.

"That's probably the only way this is going to work out," Kurt mutters in annoyance to himself as he struts down the street in the hot August air toward a Starbucks or Caribou Coffee; whichever is closer. Naturally a Starbucks rears its head first, so Kurt crosses a busy street hurriedly and slips inside with a ding of a bell over the door.

Up at the counter, a cheerful, attractive guy asks, "What might I get for ye?" with a slight accent, maybe Irish? A black-haired, hazel-eyed Irish guy in the middle of Cincinnati, Ohio, right near the University of Cincinnati? Oh yes, Kurt likes. Kurt likes a _lot._

Smiling what could be considered flirtatiously, Kurt remarks, "Something cold. A caramel frappichino with no whip, perhaps? And make it your smallest size, please."

"Comin' right up," the guy comments with a smile of his own, and he has a beauty mark below his right eye that is both adorable and distracting. Kurt hands him the payment, a five-dollar bill, and awaits his change. After he gets it, he watches with mild interest as the Irish barista turns around and starts making Kurt's order.

Kurt waits near the ledge where orders are placed, watching as many others nearby are also getting cold drinks. It's a scorcher out there, and the air conditioning doesn't always do it for you.

Idly, Kurt wonders why he had chosen this college out of all the others in Ohio. And then he remembers: there is a branch here called the College-Conservatory of Music, and it includes instrument playing as well as singing, the latter being in Kurt's main interest. He's taking other classes, too, mindful to try and get a degree in something practical so that he can find a job, but doing what he loves on the side is never a wrong choice. But as a main degree, he's thinking of either aiming for being a designer of some sort (a wedding planner, an interior home or corporate decorator, a fashion designer) or possibly going into the theatrical arts. Like a high school, the university has a drama club, and Kurt's thinking of joining if and when they decide to put on a musical.

Kurt is brought out of his musings when the cute Irish guy (Kurt glances at the young man's nametag, noting that his name is Jason) comes up behind where Kurt is leaning and taps his arm with the drink. A chill runs through Kurt at the contact, because he's wearing short sleeves, and already there's cold condensation on the plastic cup.

"Here ye are," Jason says with a smile.

"Thank you," Kurt smiles, and he's tempted to wink, but he doesn't want to come on strong at all, and simply opts to brushing his fingers over Jason's as he takes his order. Jason doesn't react, simply smiles, and Kurt feels slightly defeated as he retreats to a comfortable spot in the small coffeehouse.

Kurt wonders if he should have brought his laptop with him to browse Facebook or do something else, but with a shrug, he realizes that it would've been a tad pointless. It's not like Kurt ever does much on the computer outside of schoolwork.

Sighing, the poor soprano wonders, too, what living with Karofsky is going to be like? He can picture it now: Karofsky hanging out with some frat boys and kegging it up, probably having sex with girls at parties but picturing guys the entire time, playing it all cool like it doesn't matter, while he tries out for the college hockey team and messes up Kurt's studying schedule with his hockey and partying schedules.

Tch. Kurt's just going to _loathe_ this, he's sure. And it doesn't help that they have to share a built-in bathroom to their dorm room, since Kurt paid extra to have his own (he needs it, okay? Public bathrooms are nasty and he figured that sharing one with a single person would be easier than sharing one with, like, a hundred), the bathroom looking like an extension near the entrance of the cramped room, similar to a hotel room. _But seriously,_ Kurt thinks with a soft outward groan into the thick green straw of his drink, _This is going to be a nightmare. I just pray I never see him naked by mistake, or vice versa. Uhg, that's shudder-worthy. _

Meanwhile, Dave is back at the dorm room, trying to sort of his stuff and place it where Hummel conveniently seemed to leave space, as if he knew what Dave would bring (but how could he? Even Dave wasn't sure what he'd take with him to college at first) and expected where it should go, alongside all of his girlier stuff.

Dave snorts. He really can't stand this setup. Why, out of all of the people who attend this university, and why out of all of the universities in Ohio (or the entire _country_!), Kurt Hummel had to pick _this one,_ and be Dave's _roommate?_

The jock makes a growling noise in the back of his throat. It's going to be _extremely _difficult to concentrate in college, now. Because Dave's grade had slipped while Kurt was at McKinley because all Dave could think about was how much he wanted to mess with and touch and –

"No, no, no!" Dave tells himself sternly, smacking himself in the head. "Shut up! I'm not –"

But lately, he can't seem to say it. Ever since Kurt left his high school for another school, Dave has been getting better grades and not calling anyone names anymore, although he still gave slushie facials because, well, that was just funny as hell.

Now, in college, however… there is no glee club to harass. There are no slushies to throw. There aren't any obstacles in Dave's way to make a better future for himself than being a blue-collar worker except for the one teensy problem in his dormitory room: his roommate.

"Heh," Dave scoffs, "Maybe I should start calling us _cell_mates instead, since this is going to be fucking _Hell,_ like a prison." And it sucks because Dave's tried communicating with the RA and other people in change of rooming and housing, but no one bothered with him. They kept insisting that everything is final at this point, and unless your roommate commits a felony, you're not going to lose them anytime soon.

And really, all Dave wants to do at this point is stop unpacking and start banging his head against a wall until his brains dissolve into pudding and start leaking out his ears while his skull splits open from the constant thwacking.

With a groan, Dave ceases unpacking for a moment to fall backward onto his bed. He violently kicks his heel into the naked mattress, his hand covering his eyes and squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Fuck my life," the jock grumbles to himself. "Why the fuck do I have to feel so strongly toward him, anyway?"

He's never been sure what he's felt, only that, when it comes to Hummel… all Dave wants to do is pin the other male down and ravish him roughly, since Kurt isn't as much of a girl as he pretends to be, and could handle the forces on him. Despite his clothing choice, Dave knows that Kurt is, in body, entirely male. And the idea is oddly intriguing and alluring to Dave, even when he knows all too well that it shouldn't be.

Except the hockey player's lust isn't so overwhelming that he's ever going to try and pull anything. Things admittedly got out of hand that day in the locker room, and Dave hadn't at all intended to ever act out one of his fantasies by kissing Hummel, but it happened and he couldn't take it back. But outside of that one time, Dave isn't going to do anything. He might be a little fucked up in the head, but he's not about to rape Kurt or anything. That would just be… wrong, on so many levels, because dammit, Dave has _some _morals, and one of those happens to be not to deflower someone by force.

Scrubbing his scalp out of frustration with his thoughts, Dave gets up from his bed and wobbles over to the attached bathroom. He slams the door shut, takes a whiz, and then strips. He glances at himself self-consciously in the mirror – really, he's tried to get back in shape since he didn't have anything better to do, what with Kurt gone – but he knows that he's still ugly. Kurt had really hit the nail on the head with his insults that day. He'd been on fire when he'd confronted Dave in the locker room, and it's one memory that Dave will probably never erase from his mind.

Dave steps into the shower stall and eases into the water, feeling as it turns from cool to burning within minutes. He lathers himself up, trying to scrub away his thoughts on this living situation, and then stoops down to grab the shampoo bottle he brought in earlier (he made sure to unpack his toiletries first, because you never know when you'll see them).

He washes his short hair, washes his face with the bar soap (he notes that there's a separate bar in here that smells like shea butter; Kurt's), and then thoughtlessly cleans his junk and ass, as per usual.

Thoroughly cleansed, Dave steps out of the shower, water trickling down his body in a ticklish way, before reaching for a towel.

Wait. Fuck. He forgot one in the room, laying on his duffel bag just around the corner of the bathroom door! Shit…

Cautiously (because who knows when Kurt might get back?), Dave peers out a crack in the door, mindful not to get too much water on the tiled flooring of the bathroom. He then darts a hand out, stretches to reach the bag, and then yanks a towel out of it. He shuts the door again, quickly retreating to the stall so not to leave even more water on the floor. He dries himself off, puts on lotion (it doesn't even smell; it just keeps his body from turning as dry and leathery as a crocodile's), and gets dressed.

Cleaning up the drips on the floor and tossing the towel into a bin Kurt already has in the corner of the bathroom, Dave steps out of the closed-in area.

As he fumbles in his bag for his deodorant and cologne, he hears keys in the lock. Within seconds, Dave is caught with his shirt around his neck and Kurt blinking at Dave's bare back.

Scowling, Dave remarks over his shoulder, "What're _you_ lookin' at, Fancy?" before turning his head back around and finishing applying his post-shower scents. Finished, he slips his arms into the sleeves of the shirt and ruffles his wet hair as Kurt shuts the door behind him, coughing into one pale hand.

"Nothing. As if I'd ever look at _you,_" Kurt retorts as he drops his keys in a little basket on his small desk and picks up his bed sheets. He finally makes his bed, moving around it and putting on the mattress cover and sheets and top duvet cover, all without looking Dave's way. He then stands on his bed, pulling out some posters to hang on the wall that runs the length of his side of the room.

"The Killers?" Dave comments as he glances over at what his roommate is doing. He's surprised to see the band beside a pin-up of Lady Gaga and another of Zac Effron.

Kurt nods. "Yeah, what of them? I happen to think the lead singer is cute and their music fun to listen to. Is it such a crime?"

"Well, no, I guess not," Dave harrumphs. "I mean… I listen to them, too. I have about twenty-eight of their songs on my iPod."

"That so?" Kurt says, suddenly turning around. Dave's shocked to find a light smile on those perfectly smooth, palely pink lips. "There might be hope for us yet, then, if you like The Killers."

"Some people hate them; thinks their music is annoying," Dave agrees, "So I'm glad you're not one of _those _people."

"The feeling is mutual," Kurt replies, and really, this is the first conversation they've ever had that's been civil. He hops down from his bed. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some more homey things to put up."

And while Dave's curious to see what Hummel is referring to, he makes sure to make it seem that he doesn't care as he continues unloading and putting away his own possessions. He wishes he'd remembered to grab his own posters from his bedroom, though. It would have been nice to have his 30 Seconds To Mars poster up. Once again, Dave doesn't admit to himself that he finds Jared Leto attractive, nor does he acknowledge that this is the main reason (besides how the music sounds) why he wants the poster up, and sort of misses seeing it.

The afternoon wears on, the boys finally getting everything in what looks like its proper place. And then it boils down to where to put the mini-refrigerator Kurt brought and the television and Xbox that Karofsky brought.

They compromise on space (or lack thereof) by setting the small TV set/DVD player onto the top of the small fridge, the Xbox on the floor beside the little cherry red appliance.

"I feel like this is the weirdest place I've ever lived in," Dave huffs as he plops down on his bed, his wrists dangling from his knees, his legs spread. Kurt adverts where his eyes have wandered to the crotch of Dave's flannel lounge pants.

"I couldn't agree more," Kurt comments idly as he glances around the room. "It looks pretty crowded in here with both of our possessions vying for space, but it's not terribly cluttered. I could get used to it."

"Yeah. But, heh," Dave mocks, "You can totally tell that two completely opposite people live here. I mean, look at my side compared to _yours._ Yours is all frilly with gold and orchid, and mine's all manly with forest green and steely grey. It's fuckin' funny."

Kurt's brows come together as he places his hands on his hips where he stands. "Shut up. Just because I actually have _taste _doesn't mean you have to poke fun at me." He does notice, however, that Karofsky hadn't used any of the terms, 'fruity,' 'gay,' or 'faggy,' like Finn had back when Kurt first decorated their basement room. Instead, he said 'frilly,' which is indeed insulting, but not nearly as harsh. Kurt appreciates this, but he doesn't show it.

"Whatever," Dave counters with such witty intelligence that Kurt's blown away. (Sarcasm, sarcasm.)

Kurt watches Dave flops backward onto his bed, nearly hitting his head on the wall.

The soprano raises an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be going out with for booze and babes right about now?" he quips scathingly. "It's Saturday night, after all. Dinner hour. Don't you have a girlfriend to treat and sleep with?"

"Watch it, Hummel," Karofsky threatens. "My personal life is none of your business." And he drapes an arm over his eyes.

Kurt shrugs. "Whatever you say, hamhock. I was just wondering why you're lying around like a useless sack of meat and bones."

Dave snarls, sitting up, his arm previously over his eyes slamming into the mattress with a loud _thwump_. "Shut it!"

"Sorry, sorry; jeez Louise, I didn't mean to _upset _you," Kurt counters with dripping sarcasm. "It just doesn't add up. I thought you'd be the type to leap right into the college experience with guns blazing."

"You thought wrong, then," Karofsky snaps back. "I'm actually not half the partier you make me out to be. I hate parties; they're awkward and brainless. Drinking's fine, but everything sucks at those things. I won't be heading out anytime soon, so if you're trying to shoo me out of the room so you can bring in whatever guy I'm sure you're hooked up with at the moment – probably that pussy from Dalton, I bet – it's not going to work. I'm staying _right here."_

Kurt bristles at the mention of Blaine and the evident jealousy laced into Karofsky's tone. He spins around from his task and glares at the jock. "You have _no right _to speak to me that way! You don't know me at all, Karofsky. I'm not some homosexual manwhore like you stereotype me as! Believe it or not, most gays _aren't _sluts, thank-you-very-much. Just like how most straight people aren't sleeping with everybody either, and yet some break that mold. Honestly, just because I'm gay and you're too damn scared to admit that you are, too, doesn't mean you're justified in being a grade-A asshole!"

Dave leaps up from the bed, getting in Kurt's face. "I'm not gay!" he shouts, giving Kurt a little shove that makes the shorter male stumble and sit down on the ledge of his own bed. "And I know that all gays aren't whores, okay? I just figured _you'd_ be the type to get all lovey-dovey over your _boyfriend,_" he hisses, and then pivots and storms out of the room, not even taking his key with him.

And Kurt sits there, running a hand through his hair to smooth it, wondering what in the name of Oprah just happened.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

_Hey Dad,_

_I know it's probably weird to get an e-mail from me. But, I don't know. I thought I'd tell you that college sucks and that I hate my roommate. You know that kid who got me expelled? Yeah, him. Kurt Hummel. He's my roommate. And I can't stand it! We've already gotten into a fight, and now I'm at some Internet café that has computers, typing this up to you just so you know that I really, really wish I could transfer or something. And no, you don't need to tell me that I sound like a whiny, spoiled brat; I already know that I am, and I'm going to get through this since it's what you're going to tell me to do anyhow. But hey, I needed to vent, and you've always told me that I can vent to you so that I don't, like, blow up in someone's face or hit somebody._

_From David._

_P.S. Can you put some cash in my account for my debit card? I forgot to transfer some of my student loans, and there's a fee for changing it now. Sorry, but I'll pay you back. Also, give Mom my regards. I didn't tell her goodbye before I left for this stupid place._

Dave hits the send button on his Yahoo mail account before signing out and exiting the Internet. Thinking about nothing in particular (certainly not feeling gloomy about getting into an fight with Kurt, oh no), he exits the shop and looks around for someplace to go, somewhere to be. Dave has his hands shoved into his pockets as he wanders down the streets of Cincinnati.

After a couple hours of senseless walking, Dave's legs grow tired and he stumbles into a nightclub. It's not the smartest place to be, he knows, and he also realizes that this is precisely where Kurt thought he'd wind up, and he hates it that Kurt's correct.

Angrily, Dave hustles up to the bar, flashing a fake ID before ordering a drink. He orders a gin and tonic. The bartender shrugs, and hands the eighteen-year-old the drink. Dave slugs it down, making a face at the intense burn in his throat and nose. He then smiles lopsidedly. "'Nother."

"Easy there; do you want to get drunk instantly or something?" the bartended chuckles weakly.

"Yup," Dave replies. He licks the lip of the glass where a lingering bead of gin has collected. "I want to not think for a while. My thoughts kinda disturb me."

The bartender chuckles heartier this time, sliding another drink into Dave's hands. "Oh, I know how that feels. Here you go, then. Just don't make yourself sick, man. You don't look as experienced as some other drinkers I see."

"I'll get there," Dave retorts. "Practice makes perfect. So keep 'em comin', until I've built up an immunity."

"That might take a while," the bartender laughs. He's a rugged guy, probably a motorcyclist. He has a beer gut and stubble, and a receding hairline. He can't be older than thirty-five. "But it's worth a shot."

"Or two," Dave jokes with a snort, making a pun on what's in his hand. He slugs the second drink with more ease than the first, and can start to taste the delicious bitterness in the gin and tonic. "'Nother." And his head is beginning to get fuzzy already, after only two. He smiles as the warmth in his tummy, spreading like a disease, but feeling oh-so-comforting.

The bartender returns after handing a rink to someone else, and prepares another gin and tonic. "Take it easy, bud. I'm serious. You didn't drive here, did you?"

"No. I walked. I was gonna take a cab back."

"Oh. That works, then. Here you go," the bartender says with a nod, handing the tonic over. "But judging by your weight and height, I don't recommend going over four or five of these, else you'll be stabbing your liver with a knife, got me?"

"Yeah, sure," Dave grumbles. He downs the third drink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Wasn't plannin' on doing damage or nothin'."

"That's good," the bartender smiles, and once again leaves for another customer.

Dave's head is pleasantly swimming now, the sound of the music over the speakers dulling and his thoughts turning into a steady trickle instead of a rushing brook. And he feels a whole lot better now, no longer moping over his stupid roommate and no longer thinking some of the gayer thoughts he had brewing in the background. Everything is a clean slate, grey and fuzzy like static on an old television set.

"One more," the jock slurs, grabbing the bartender as he walks by on the other side of the bar.

"Okay, big guy," the bartender says. "But only one."

And he hands Dave a final gin and tonic, and watches as the eighteen-year-old guzzles it down. He wipes his mouth again, making a gruff exhale as he attempts to stand. He tosses his payment onto the bar counter.

"Want me to call the cab for you?" the bartender says as Dave trips over a leg of a stool on his way toward the exit, his cell phone being pulled from his jeans pocket.

"Hmm," Dave hums, turning back around and swaying slightly. "Yeah, may –_hic_ – be."

The bartender holds out his hand, and Dave hands him the cell phone. With lighting-fast fingers (at least it looked that way to Dave's slowly-processing mind), the bartender calls up the taxi agency in town and mentions that he "has another lost lamb that needs to find its way home" and tells the taxi to pull up front, around the curb. Ending the call, he returns Dave's cell to him and tells him to wait outside for the taxicab.

Nodding sluggishly, Dave makes his way out of the nightclub through grinding bodies as the music and alcohol flood his system. His form wobbles lightly as he plops down o the curb, glancing this way and that. it isn't very late; only about eight o'clock, maybe nine, or whatever. Dave isn't keeping track.

The cab pulls up and Dave hobbles into it. "'S up?" Dave snorts, laughing. "Just drive me near the University. I live around there." And it's true, because he lives in the dorms, but he doesn't want the cabbie to realize that Dave is an under-aged college student. Because what if the dude turned him in to the cops? That'd just be… well, fucking horrible.

The driver shrugs and pulls out into the street, keeping quiet while the radio plays in the cramped vehicle. Dave picks at the tearing leather seat and gazes out the window in a drunken stupor, his mind a dull hum of vague thoughts that barely linger long enough for the jock to really ponder them.

When he's in front of the school, he pays the cabbie and stumbles tiredly into his dorm and makes his way to the door. He reaches into his pocket for his keys…

…But realizes that he had left them inside.

Shit.

Dave presses his forehead to the cool wood of the door and plants his elbow against it. He rears back his fist, and calls, "Hey, Hummel! Hey, let me in!" while pounding on the door at each exclamation point. "Come on… I'm – _hic _– sleepy."

The door flies open, and Dave looses his balance from leaning against it. He lands directly onto Kurt's chest, and it's a miracle the other teen manages to keep them both upright.

Kurt grunts on impact and takes a moment to stabilize his roommate and access the situation. "What in the name of all that is good and Prada is _wrong_ with you?"

"'M drunk, _duhh,_" Karofsky mumbles as he grips the fabric of Kurt's shirt too tightly, to the point of nearly pinching the boy's skin. He breathes hotly against Kurt's midsection, "And it's your fucking fault, too."

"What did _I_ do?" Kurt hisses, trying to toss the larger male off, trying to shake his grip and make him get into his bed before he falls over.

"I hate you," is the only response Kurt can get out of Dave before the jock messily shoves Kurt down and rushes into the bathroom, vomiting from drinking too much, too fast.

Sitting on the floor with a stunned expression on his face, Kurt rubs his sore tailbone and stands shakily, idly dusting off his pants. Just what is Karofsky's _problem?_

Karofsky stumbles out of the bathroom, looking pale and sweaty, one of the backs of his hand raised over his mouth. Kurt bets that right around now his mouth must taste as revolting as a garbage heap.

The soprano folds his arms across his chest and glares at Karofsky, who somehow holds a wavering gaze with hazy, alcohol-clouded eyes. His hands is still at his mouth, and after one last look with a different expression than exhaustion or drunkenness or hatred, Dave turns and falls into his bed, laying on his side facing the wall.

Kart shakes his head briskly, ridding himself of a single care or worry remotely concerning why his dumbass of a roommate is drunk and definitely rids himself of thinking he should help the thug at all. Instead, Kurt returns to his bed where he had been reading moments ago and sets his novel aside. He clicks off the light, rubs a hand through the headband in his hair he had used while letting the skincare products on his face settle in, and settles down into his clean sheets that thankfully still smell of home.

And before Kurt joins Karofsky in slumber (he can clearly hear the jock snoring softly), he distantly wishes he had his stuffed rabbit already. He could use the comfort after such a bizarre day.

**XXX**

Dave tosses and turns halfway through the night, thrashing on his covers. His mind is still thick and hazy, but his dream all too vivid:

A moan escapes the lips hovering just below Dave's, and he grins to himself as he rubs his thumb across something bulging and stiff beneath the fabric of the person's underwear. Dave kisses, wet and tender, down the person's flat, lean chest, and gladly runs his large hands down the sides of the person's lithe body.

He moans, inhaling the person's scent and pressing himself flush against the smaller body as his hand slips under their underwear. The person lets out a gasp, and then melts under Dave's hand as he works it around their shaft.

Shaft? This isn't a girl? But it feels so good when it's not a girl, and it's rougher and more addicting that touching the soft curves of a woman, and Dave is all too happy to bend to the person's wishes when they whisper, "Touch me… more, David…"

And suddenly things get too bright, like lightning flashing, and Dave finds himself peering into eyes that are blue, then green, then blue again, shifting back and forth until it merges into a single color, and soft aquamarine with silver flecks in the irises, and aside from the stifling heat and overpowering arousal, all Dave can see are those damn _eyes, _and all he can taste is something bitter on his tongue, but he knows that if he just leans down and places his lips over this person's lips, the bitterness will go away and give way to something so very, very sweet.

Dave bolts upright in bed, his dream falling apart. He can't even remember it, now; he only figures that it must have been sexual, because he can feel a raging hard-on in his pants.

As Dave's head throbs with a painful ache and his stomach churns, he groans pathetically. The jock rolls out of bed and trips over something until he finds himself in the bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face, quickly finishes himself off so that he can pee, and then washes his hands.

Dave stares at the mirror in the dim lighting (leave it to Hummel to put a night-light in the bathroom, but it's actually pretty handy, so Dave decides not to trash the thing), and frowns at himself.

He knows he had dreamt of Hummel. He doesn't remember the details through his building migraine, but he remembers the eyes. And those eyes could only belong to the homo. He knows it.

Dave sighs and rubs his face. He reaches behind the mirror, into the cabinet, and withdraws some painkillers. He takes two for his headache, and then cups water in his hands from the sink to swallow them both. Tiredly, he shuffles back into his bed, but not before he glances over at Kurt's sleeping face in the moonlight leaking in through the window.

Kurt…

Why does he have to be so damn attractive? This would be so much easier – the denial about his sexuality, living with another guy, being around Hummel in general – if Hummel was either hideous or utterly straight or, better yet, _both_.

But no. As drunk as he still is, Dave is still able to think enough to know that things are never that simple. He wishes they were, would trade anything to have it different, but at the same time…

He's really glad this happened.

He hates/has the hots for/detests/feels lust for/etcetera Kurt Hummel, and it's so conflicting and wonderful and God-awful all at once that it makes Dave feel like he should have drank even more to kill off the brain cells in his head to cease it all. Cease the thoughts, the desires, the urges… To admit to being gay, to wanting Kurt's body in his grasp, to beat the shit out of the prettyboy…

All of it.

Just… make it vanish with an overdose of alcohol. That's all Dave ponders doing anymore.

Psh, as if he can do it. He'd probably die trying, or disappoint his prideful father so much that he'd get disowned. And all that jazz.

"Life sucks," Dave whispers in a raspy voice as he gently brushes his fingers over the skin of Kurt's exposed wrist where it lies atop the covers on his stomach. Dave then turns and flops back into his own bed, the mattress squeaking in protest at the sudden deadweight. Murmuring the lyrics of 'The Answer' by Blue October to himself, the jock drifts back into blissfully unaware sleep, the meds kicking in, 'drowsiness' oddly one of its better side effects.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3.**

After the drunken incident, Kurt notes that Karofsky doesn't say more than a single-worded response to him for the subsequent two days. But past this point, the bully decides to ask one minor thing:

"So… you're going somewhere?"

Kurt pauses as he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror, turning his gaze to Karofsky's reflection in the background of Kurt's own. He turns and leans against the sink to face where his roommate stands, leaning with his back against the door, his legs together and his hands in his pant pockets.

"Yes, I am," Kurt retorts stiffly. "I'm meeting a friend halfway; they attend Dayton U, and that's a bit of a drive. Forty-nine miles, actually. With traffic, that can take at least an hour, at okay speeds. Which is why we're decided to meet part of the way," he explains.

"It's Blaine, isn't it?" Karofsky doesn't even hesitate to add.

Kurt bristles, the hairs on his skin raising a tad. "Yes…" he admits slowly, cautiously, so not to set the other off. He swears that Karofsky might be bipolar or _something._ "He was my best friend at Dalton. I miss him. It's not a sin to miss someone."

Dave tenses. "Actually, it _can_ be a sin when you're missing a _crush_, and that crush happens to be another _dude._" And this is true for more than merely Kurt; after Kurt left McKinley… part of Karofsky missed him, the part that Karofsky doesn't want to admit is even him at all; the part of him that is undeniably gay and _craving_ Kurt Hummel, and has been for a few years now, slowly building. But nothing at all like love; no. Only unadulterated lust, and it's carnivorous and disgusting and Dave only wishes he could dispose of the feelings.

Precisely like how he wants not to feel the green-eyed monster currently tearing him up inside as he watches as Kurt's face hardens.

"I _used _to have a crush on him, yes, until he and I came to the conclusion that we work best as friends since we're too similar for any romantic chemistry," Kurt throws back tersely. "Not that it matters, especially not to _you._ But even then, it's no _sin,_ Karofsky, to miss somebody, homosexual feelings attached or not. So I'm going to go visit my _friend,_ catch up on things since graduation, and then be back late tonight. I think you can handle being on your own; unless of course your caveman instincts to set the cave on fire are too strong and I need to stay behind and look after you," he tacks onto the end, turning sharply around to finish up his hair before breezing past the teen he's talking to.

Dave clenches his hands in his pockets into fists when Kurt passes in front of him back into the main room. He slides against the door until he rounds a corner, able to continue facing Kurt as the other boy flits about the room picking up his wallet, his car and dorm room keys, and then, finally, sitting on his bed to put on his high tops, fashionably rolling the back end down and folding the tongue over his colorful, custom laces.

Dave doesn't want to admit that he _would _like Kurt to stay, if only to keep him away from his Mr. Perfect-for-a-"best-friend."

"Whatever, Hummel. Go ahead and gay it up with your Dalton pal for all I care. I'll just be on the Xbox all day." And to prove his point, he gets up from his spot on the wall and plops down on the end of his bed, controller in hand, as he turns on the gaming console.

"Fine by me," Kurt answers coldly as he heads for the door. He opens it and sticks out one foot before stopping in his tracks. "But Karofsky? Can you not go out and get drunk again? I'd rather not have to clean the bathroom for a third time this week, thank you."

Offended, Karofsky sneers with purposeful grace to his word choice, "I'll try to refrain from the temptation of alcohol consumption _just for you,_ Hummel."

And Kurt doesn't have anything to say to this, so he simply slams the door behind him and storms off to his car in a terribly dreadful mood.

**XXX**

Interstate highway 75 runs through both Cincinnati and Dayton, and nearly perfectly in the center between the two cities is a town suitably and ironically called Middletown. Kurt and Blaine planned to meet up at a Boarders there, since bookstores are something they both enjoy for both the atmosphere, coffee, and, obviously, the cute boys – er, rather, the books. The books, not the adorably geeky emo boys who read them. No, of course not. Just the books.

"Aw, look at him! Isn't he a dear? He must be, what, fifteen at the least? And he has an eyebrow piercing. How quaint," Kurt smiles as he sits with Blaine at a set of black chairs in a corner, three walls of books keeping them from view.

"He hides behind all that hair, though. He actually has a really nice face," Blaine comments idly, also smiling minutely. "I like his jaw line. And his nose is adorable."

"Agreed," Kurt giggles. He then turns to face Blaine, sighing loudly. "But enough ogling. Let's get down to business. How have you been, Blaine? Your roommate, class schedule, everything? I'm curious. Well, that, and chatting with Mercedes and Tina on the phone for the past two days hearing about their stories has gotten old, and sadly pretty quickly." A pout forms on his mouth. "And wait 'til it's my turn, and I tell you _all_ about my own rooming experiences."

"Oh, dear. I can already tell that you have quite the story up your sleeve. But that's all the more reason for me to go first, eh? Well," Blaine begins, cracking his knuckles indolently, "I have the absolute sweetest roommate. His name is Jesse and he's very… out there… but he's kind to me and he seems a little bi-curious, which works for me."

"Wait," Kurt frowns, thinking aloud, "What's the rest of his name?"

"St. James," Blaine responds fluidly. "Jesse St. James."

Kurt can't contain the slack-jaw, saucer-eyed moment he has. After blinking and slamming his jaw closed with an audible click of his teeth, Kurt shakes his head, eyes closing. "You've _got _to be kidding me. Jesse, kind and sweet? Jesse, attending _Dayton?_ And furthermore, Jesse, who dated _Rachel Berry_ for a while, being bi-curious? Oh, this is too much." And he shakes his head, letting slip a bubble of laughter.

Blaine is staring at Kurt questioningly, one triangular brow raised. "You know him?"

Kurt facepalms dramatically. "A bit, yes. It's a long story for another time. Anyway, you may continue."

Blaine shrugs, squaring his shoulders. "As I was saying, I like my roommate, and he and I seem to get along since we're both slightly attention-whoreish. It's an odd balance we have, but it works. He's shown me around a bit, having checked out Dayton frequently over the summer and the summer before. We have some of the same classes, which, by the way, I selected so that all of them fall between the comfortable hours of nine in the morning and five in the evening. It works out splendidly." He folds his laced hands in his lap. "What about you, Kurt? By the look on your face, I'm assuming that your arrangement is just the opposite."

"Got that right," Kurt mutters under his breath. He sighs tragically. "Unlike you, I don't get along with my roommate. In fact, I hate his guts, and he clearly has stated that he feels the same, despite the fact that he's kissed me in the past."

"Wait… kissed you? And you hate him? This doesn't mean –"

"Oh, but Blaine my friend, it _does. _I'm rooming with the one and only David Karofsky, the same tormentor I tried to escape by going to Dalton Academy with you." He brings his knees up to his chest – an impressive feat, considering the fact that he's wearing skinny jeans – and plants his forehead against them. "I don't like it one bit. I tried to switch him out, especially for a girl – it would be lovely to have a living arrangement akin to Will and Grace on the TV show with the same name – but no, it seems that I'm doomed to stick it out with intolerable _Karofsky._" And he spits the name like poison from his mouth.

Blaine sucks in air. "Ooh, ouch." He lays a comforting hand on Kurt's shoulder and soothingly rubs his tense muscles with one hand. "I'm so sorry, Kurt. I wish I could help, but I'm out of my league with that one."

Kurt leans into his friend's touch and pouts, "I know. Thanks, though. Your sentiments are enough. And…" an odd smile touches Kurt's lips as he glances over at the private-college boy, "I think I don't even need your 'courage' this time. I feel like I can handle this, as rough as it might be, since this time, Karofsky doesn't seem to feel the need to abuse me, since he has no image to uphold in Cincinnati."

"That's the spirit," Blaine encourages.

And Kurt feels a lot better about himself suddenly; enough to drop one of his legs back onto the carpeted floor. But there's just one last thing that's bothering him… He nibbles on his bottom lip and murmurs, "Blaine?"

"Yeah?" the older boy smiles.

"There's one other thing," Kurt admits softly.

Blaine's face takes on a worried expression. He places a hand over one of Kurt's hands. "What's wrong?"

"I… had a dream about him last night. Karofsky. It was the strangest thing… We were back at McKinley, in the hallway, but no one else was around. He didn't have his letterman on like he should have, which I found strange. He stepped up close to me, and I thought he was going to punch me in the gut when he raised a hand between us. He kept staring at me. I couldn't move for some reason, too, which didn't help the situation any. And then he… touched me. Instead of giving me pain like I expected of him, he simply reached out and stroked idly down my wrist where I had my hand raised to my lips. And then he leaned in and whispered my name in my ear before turning sharply on his heel and walking away." He shakes his head. "I don't understand it. What do you think it could mean, Blaine?"

Blaine's brows come together as he ponders this. He removes his hand with a short pat, and then looks out at nothing in particular. The black-haired boy then shrugs. "I'm not entirely sure. But my guess is that your subconscious is trying to tell you that Karofsky's intentions aren't all bad, and that you should give him a chance. Just let him be himself; try not to upset him. See what he's like." He smiles. "Sound agreeable?"

Kurt blows air out his mouth. "I suppose…"

"Good. Now then," he says with a clap and a rub of his hands, "Shall I treat you to a manicure?"

The other boy grins. "That would be lovely, thank you."

**XXX**

Kurt winds up cutting his time with Blaine short. He arrives back at his dorm room around what he remembers to be his usual dinnertime at home. As he slips into the room, he can smell pizza – there's a half-eaten box lying on a pop-up TV stand near the Neanderthal's bed. But this isn't unusual.

What _is_ unusual is that, just as Kurt walks in the door, he hears the bathroom near him suddenly have the water turn on in the shower, and as it runs for about a minute, Kurt hears the wafting of _music_ muffled behind the bathroom door. Karofsky is _singing._ In the shower. And he sounds… well, _pretty damn talented._

Kurt gapes at the bathroom door as he lingers just outside of it, the dorm room door closing behind him. He blinks, staring, and tentatively leans in closer, touching a hand to the wood as he places his ear against it.

Karofsky has a low, alluring tone to his voice, nearly like a crooner, despite the fact that he's singing a rock song of some sort that Kurt swears he's heard leaking from Finn's or Puck's headphones before. The lyrics, as far as Kurt can tell, sound like this as Karofsky sings them:

_I can be as humble as the next guy,  
Or I can blink and make you crumble from the inside.  
I could be every nasty thing you ever dreamt a man could be…__I'm what you've always wanted…_

_Cause they all fall down._  
_Cause they all fall down._

_I can make you see the beauty of a new sun,_  
_Or I can be the source of your desperation;_  
_I could be every nasty thing you ever dreamt a man could be…_

_Jaded, dated, I'm the type you hated;_  
_Haunted, taunted, I'm what you've always wanted!_  
_Yeah, yeah…_

_You can turn away like you don't even see me,_  
_Yeah, you can smile like you got something I need._  
_But every night you go home alone_  
_And dream about being underneath me!_

And Kurt suddenly backs away from the door, because, oh _Gaga, _he prays that Karofsky isn't singing about _him._ Because if he is, Kurt doesn't even want to know how much truth Karofsky thinks he hears in those lyrics.

But it doesn't stop there.

Karofsky suddenly switches melodies, the lyrics shifting to a different song Kurt thinks is of the same band. And this time Karofsky sings the entire song, not pausing for additional choruses or musical interludes to hum like he had with the last.

_The fastest man in the world, fast asleep at the wheel.  
Nobody wants to be alone, so how did I get here?  
When I look at you, I see him staring through.  
A wink and a smile, cause he's been inside of you –  
Is he all the things you tried to change me into?  
Is he everything to you?_

_Does he make you high, make you real?_  
_Does he make you cry? Does he know the way you feel?_  
_Love is all around you, your universe is full;_  
_But in my world, there is only you…_

_I can still find your smell_  
_On my clothes and skin._  
_I can still see your face_

_When you're sleeping next to him –  
Is he all the things you tried to change me into?  
Tell me does he…_

_I've had enough of fears – you let them out!_  
_Now I wrap myself around you_  
_Like a blanket full of doubt._  
_The darkness grows!_  
_The sunlight stings!_  
_He's your everything_

_You make me high! You make me real!_  
_You make me cry! Now you know the way I feel._  
_Love is all around you, your universe is full…_  
_But in my world… there is only you._

And Kurt is a little more than sick to his stomach. He stumbles over to his bed and plops down on it, the singing and running water ceasing. Kurt curls up on his bed, because he doesn't want to think that Karofsky had just been singing about himself, Kurt, and Blaine, but the ill feeling that he _had been singing about as much _makes Kurt's head swim.

When Dave comes out of the bathroom, he stops dead. He blinks, staring. "You're… back early, Hummel," he remarks with a hint of surprise, a towel around his waist. Apparently, he doesn't bring his clothes into the bathroom to change into when he thinks he's going to be alone for a few hours.

Kurt adverts his eyes and stares at the pattern on his comforter instead. "I felt tired, so I came back," he offers, because he doesn't want Karofsky to think Kurt came back early because Blaine bored him or they had a disagreement or something, because that's not what happened at all, but he knows Karofsky loves to jump to conclusions unless Kurt says something.

"Oh. Okay," Karofsky mumbles, gathering up some loungewear in his hand, the other holding up his towel self-consciously.

Kurt's already seen his roommate shirtless before, but never from the front. It's difficult to keep his eyes from drifting, because either Karofsky ways always hiding pecs like those under his letterman jacket or he's developed them recently, after Kurt went to Dalton. Either way, they're there and distracting. And it doesn't help any that Karofsky's stomach is relatively flat, even though no muscles are visible, because Kurt knows that they're there, and –

Wait, is he seriously checking out _David Karofsky?_ The concept is so wrong in so many different ways that Kurt forces it out of his mind and closes his eyes instead, curling up further on his side atop the sheets of his perfectly made bed.

_I can't help it if I notice a guy's body, no matter _who _he is,_ Kurt tells himself. _Girls do the same thing, and guys, too, to girls. It happens._

Dave retreats to the bathroom, slipping into his clothes, some of the fabric sticking to the sweat and lotion on his skin. He feels too warm all of a sudden, the bathroom too stuffy. Once he's dressed, he ruffles his hair with his towel and drops it in the hamper, then proceeds back into the room to drop down onto his bed.

He glances over at the pizza he ordered. "Um… are you hungry, Hummel? You can have some of this if you want," Dave mumbles unsurely.

Kurt shakes his head, still facing away from his roommate. "Not hungry, thanks. Still full from a mochiato I had."

"Oh. Okay," Karofsky mumbles, and has a déjà vu moment. Hadn't he said this already? He clears his throat uncomfortably. "When… when did you come in?" he poses, feeling defensive. He needs to know if Kurt heard him singing; he hates it when people hear him sing, which is one of the reasons why he detested Glee Club and never joined it: because he hated that other people with talent could boast and brag and show off their skills while Dave always stood in the background. But it was his own fault and he knows it, which only makes him angrier.

"In time to hear you singing, if that's what you're implying," Kurt retorts awkwardly. He shifts into sitting position, his legs pretzeled, as his gaze returns to Karofsky's face. "Why? Was it something I shouldn't have heard?" Because Kurt is thinking about those lyrics, and what they could mean…

Oddly enough, Dave blushes a shade pinker on his generally rogue, post-shower cheeks. "Yeah, actually. I hate it when people know that I sing. I swear, if you tell anyone –"

And Kurt's a little relieved, because hopefully this means that Karofsky had been singing because he liked the songs and not because the music meant anything in specific. He exhales gently through his nose. "Don't worry, Karofsky, your secret talents are safe with me." He pauses. "You actually sounded pretty good, you know. Good enough to have been in Glee. Why didn't you ever try out? Was it too lame for you?"

"_Duhh,"_ Dave snorts. "That's exactly why. Glee Club is for losers, outcasts with no other talents besides making their voices stretched and high-pitched."

"Is that all you think singing is?" Kurt snaps in return. "And the other statement you made is a lie, too; plenty of the Glee members at McKinley had other talents. Half of them were from the football team, for cripes sake!"

"I know that! I was just generalizing!" Dave shoots back ferociously, once again on the defense. He sighs gruffly though his mouth and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to get into this right now." And he simply turns around and starts putting the pizza away in the fridge with some tin foil Kurt magically remembered to purchase and bring (that guy thinks of everything, Dave vaguely thinks with wonder).

"Well, neither do I, but it seems to always come down to this: no matter what conversation we engage in, it escalates into an outright argument." Kurt huffs, flopping back down onto his bed and narrowing his eyes up at the ceiling. "You're… _despicable_."

"Thanks, Daffy Duck," Dave snorts. "But I already knew that I'm _des-thick-uh-bull,_" he sounds out, using a lisp like the famous Looney Tune. He turns to his Xbox, wondering if he should turn it on and play or not, if only to get his mind off of things.

"You…!" Kurt starts, sitting up again. He then shakes his head. "No. No. I'm not going to do this with you. I'm just going to shut up and listen to my iPod." And with an exaggerated motion, he swipes his music player off the shelf and compartment unit attachment to his standard headboard. He stuffs his SkullCandy headphones onto his ears and blasts the music, something random he had been playing before. It sounds like Alicia Keys, but he really isn't in the mood for her, so he goes shuffling through his iTunes library on the device until he locates something that suits his sour mood better.

Meanwhile, Dave is shaking his head at the other boy's antics. He flips on the Xbox after all, aiming to cut up some zombies with a chainsaw in Left 4 Dead 2.

_Stupid Hummel,_ he thinks.

_Idiotic Karofsky,_ the other thinks.

Seriously, how is this ever going to work?

* * *

**A/N: The songs are (first): 'They All Fall Down' and (second) 'My World,' both by SR-71. C:**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4.**

After a few more nights of confusing, all-consuming, and even sexual dreaming about Kurt, Dave wakes with a start as his alarm clock goes off. His head races and in return, his lungs work overtime to calm his heart down. He takes a few ragged breaths, wiping at the sheen of sweat from his brow. He glances over at the window, finding the day sunny and inviting.

Dave glances over at his roommate, and he's thankful that he wound up getting classes earlier than Kurt (even though he initially didn't want them; he wanted to sleep in until, like, ten or noon, but the thing she wanted to take were strictly morning classes), because this means he can get the hell out of dodge before Kurt wakes up and showers.

Throwing off his covers and getting up stiffly from bed, the jock stretches. He idly scratches at his chin before stumbling into the bathroom to run a toothbrush over his teeth and rinse out that disgusting morning-breath flavor from his mouth with Listerine.

He re-applies deodorant, sprays on a touch of cologne, and gets dressed in the bathroom (too self-conscious to have Kurt stir awake and catch him changing). Then he's grabbing his backpack, already full of supplies, and heading out the door with his keys in his hand, locking it politely behind him.

And he's on his way to his first class, thankful that he decided to scout out his schedule before college actually started, because now he knows precisely where he's going.

**XXX**

Before his class that follows lunch, Kurt stops into the mailroom to check for any packages, since he still wants his stuffed rabbit, and he got an e-mail just yesterday from his parents saying that they shipped Bunny-Hops to him.

Sure enough, when he checks his assigned mailbox, there's a cardboard box in there, and Kurt gleefully takes it into his hands and trots back to his dorm room temporarily, if only to hide his treasure. He doesn't want to open it later when Karofsky might be around.

Unfortunately, the universe seems to hate poor Kurt Hummel, because as soon as he unlocks the door and springs into the room, Karofsky is there, switching out books from his backpack.

"Oh. Hi, Hummel," Karofsky addresses vaguely as he glances up briefly. His eyes return to his task. "What cha got there?"

"Nothing of your concern," Kurt replies suspiciously as he hides the object behind his back. He struts over to his bed and stuffs the box into the small compartment above his bed with a sliding door in the wood, a lock on one side. He locks it up. "Just a package from home."

Dave raises an eyebrow. "That so? And how come I can't see it? Are you so distrusting of me that you refuse to let me see what your parents sent you?" Suddenly, the jock grins devilishly. "Unless it's not from your parents at all, and it's actually from a magazine or the web, and it's some sort of sex toy for yourself," and he laughs like it's absurd, imaging Kurt being dirty.

Kurt flushes a deep, rich crimson. "Shut your mouth, Karofsky! It's nothing of the sort! How can you even think I would, no, that I _could_ bring myself to ever even purcha–"

"Chill out, Hummel," Dave snorts, zipping up his backpack with force. "I was only kidding."

Kurt sputters for a second, and then places a hand on his hip. "Well, I highly disapprove of your sense of humor," he sniffs, "It's inappropriate and disconcerting."

"A joke is a joke, Kurt. _God. _Not all of my jokes are like that. It's just amusing to think you'd want to hide something from me; sorry if I mistook your sneaky behavior for keeping something less than innocent when it's in fact something plenty innocent."

"I just… don't want you to steal it," he lies, because really, he just doesn't want to get teased and embarrassed. He would probably get the same treatment if the package truly _were_ something akin to a vibrator or a dildo or something, but it's not, so… Kurt shakes his head. "I've got to get to class." But as he starts to make his exit, he freezes. "Did you call me 'Kurt'?"

Dave pauses. "So what if I did?"

Kurt blinks, turning to peer over his shoulder at his roommate. "Nothing. It's just… nicer than hearing my last name or some homosexual slur."

The taller boy blinks as well, and then slings his backpack over his shoulder. He takes a few steps toward Kurt. The boy steps aside to let him pass, but before Dave does, he says, "You know, the same goes for me, too. It wouldn't kill you to call me 'Dave.' It's better than some reference to my intelligence you clearly think poorly of, since as you can tell by the way I'm talking right now, I'm actually _not _a moron. I read. Partly because I have to, and partly because, before you showed up at McKinley, I was actually a pretty smart kid."

And then he exits, pacing down the length of the hallway past all the other dorm rooms. And once again, Kurt is left standing here, wondering what had just transpired.

**XXX**

"How're things working out?" Mercedes asks over the phone to Kurt later that evening. "Your first day of the full college experience was today, I remember you tellin' me."

"Yeah…" Kurt sighs. "I already have homework, but it's minor. Didn't college start for you last week?"

"Yup," Mercedes chimes in. "And I've been having tater tots in their cafeteria all week. It's awesome."

"If you're not careful, Merce, you could gain the Freshman Fifteen."

"Honey, I already gained the Freshman _Fifty_ before _high school._ At this point, do you really think I care?"

The boy laughs. "No, I suppose not."

"Exactly. And anyway, there's this cute guy in my Psych 101 class, and he asked me out. So take that, America! Who says I need to go on a diet to get guys to like me?" she says sassily, and succeeds in making another giggle erupt from her best friend.

"Okay, okay," Kurt laughs, "You've made your point. And speaking of points, where's Miss Angular, your skinny, makes-Barbie-look-like-a-fat-whore roommate?"

"Oh, Angular Angela as I've been so fondly calling her, is out at the moment, probably snogging her boyfriend; if you don't mind the British phrase being used," the other relays with an obvious eye-roll in her tone. "What about you? Is Killer Karofsky giving you some time to yourself, too?"

Kurt snorts. "Hardly. I'm the one who's out at the moment. He's might be in a class – I don't know, we didn't really compare schedules outside of 'when's your first class in the morning, because I don't want to get up and shower when you have to.'" He shrugs his shoulders and leans backward on the bench he's parked himself on in outside of a store in a shopping center. His long legs stretch out in front of him, his feet crossed at the ankles. "Oh, and I got my bunny today! He came in the mail. But I can't open the package and retrieve him until the Big Bad Wolf is asleep or gone, because that'd just be _humiliating._"

"You're the one who wanted your bunny at college," Mercedes reminds. "Although I can't blame you. That thing is damn adorable. And so fluffy, despite how old it is!"

"I took good care of my toys, for the most part," Kurt smiles. "And now I need one again, just to keep a piece of home with me and help spare me the anguish. I can squish all of my angst into the lovable stitching, and it'll be nice to have something to hold onto while I sleep."

"I swear, you are such a _girl_ sometimes, Kurt. And I just love it," Mercedes giggles. "Why don't you have a boyfriend, again? There _has _to be more gay guys around than you're finding, because it's just a shame all your sweetness and fashion sense and overall cuteness is going to waste!"

Kurt flushes magenta. "Don't, Merce. You're making me feel silly."

"Sorry, hun. You know I love you," she informs playfully, "But you're just too fun to make fun of. I mean, you deserve somebody, Kurt! So why don't you get out there and go after him? He could be anybody. I'm surprised he wasn't Blaine."

"Blaine and I are too alike, I told you already," Kurt mumbles. He sighs. "And besides, I'm perfectly comfortable with focusing on my studies at the moment. I have enough stress with starting college right and dealing with my closet-case ex-bully for a roommate. I don't need any more drama, let alone interacting with a BF." He grins. "Although there was this one guy, Jason, at a Starbucks, who I flirted with. He was Irish and _so0o0o_ yummy that I just _couldn't help myself,_" he says, giggling a little. "But I think he might've been straight. He smiled at me, but he was being polite, I think."

"Too bad," Mercedes sighs, "He sounds dreamy. I love Irish accents. Actually, I love accents in general. I wish I had more than that… weird Midwestern accent."

"Amen to that, sista," Kurt replies. "Oh! Hold on, Mercedes. I've got another call." He glances at the his caller ID. It's Burt. "On second thought, I'll call you back. It's Dad. TTYL!"

"See ya, Kurt!" and she hangs up.

"Hello?" Kurt answers.

"Hey, son. Just checking in. Did you get your stuffed animal and the cookies Carole sent?"

"Cookies?" Kurt smiles, happy upon hearing this new information. "Yeah, I got it, but I didn't open it up yet. I get to have cookies?"

Burt chuckles, "Yes, of course. Carole thought you'd like some of the snickerdoodles and peanut butter cookies Finn requested we send him. You can even use them as a peace offering to that grump of a roommate of yours," he tells his son. "I'm still highly annoyed by that. I wish I could snatch you up and take you away from him, since he's such a dick, but –"

"No, Dad, it's okay," Kurt says with a light sigh. "I think things might get better, and as it stands as this very second, Karof– I mean, Dave – hasn't hurt me or anything. He's barely even made a comment about my sexuality, as far as slurs go. I think the peer pressure of high school got to him at the time, because even though he's still very much of an asshole, I think he has the potential to be less of one."

Burt seems to smile on the other end of the line. "That's great to hear, son."

"Well, Dad, I should really go. It's getting late and I should be getting back to the dorm to eat something and get ready for bed. One of my classes starts a bit earlier tomorrow." And while this last bit is a lie, Kurt is getting sleepy all of a sudden.

"Okay, Kurt. Goodbye and goodnight." And then he, too, is hanging up.

Kurt sticks his phone in his pocket and gets up from the bench, making his way back to his car. He cranks up the music in it on the way back, and by the time he reaches his dormitory, most of the streetlights have come on during the late summer sunset.

The soprano bursts in the apartment, chucking his keys into the basket on his desk by the door.

"Hey," Dave mutters from his place on his bed, looking over a printed packet of lengthy text.

"Hey," Kurt greets dully. He glances at Dave. "Homework on the first day for you, too?"

Dave nods. "Yeah. It's an intro packet about the class and what we need to start learning and stuff. It's like high school all over again, these stupid gen ed classes," he grumbles, referring to his general education version of history, which is what he currently is holding in his hands. "What do you have to do?"

Kurt locks the door and shrugs off the thin zip-up hoodie he'd been wearing; despite the nice weather, there still had been a breeze that reminded Kurt that an Ohio fall is just a few weeks away. "I have to read something as well. Nothing major."

"Hn," Dave hums in reply, and watches with secret interest over the rim of his packet (that he's only skim-reading anyhow) as Kurt bends over to retrieve something from his backpack. He then climbs onto his bed, and Dave tries not to think about how sexy it kind of looks, and then adverts his eyes once Kurt is settled at the head of his bed, turning to glance over at his roommate.

"…Dave?" Kurt addresses, and his roomie was right when he said that it wouldn't kill Kurt to say the name.

The hockey player feels himself become rigid at the sound of his first name on Kurt's lips. He's never heard it come from the shorter male before, and he really likes the sound of it. "Yeah?" he grunts, trying to act like he hadn't reacted to finally being called something other than 'Neanderthal' or 'Karofsky.'

"Uh… I'm… sorry, about earlier. We seem to always push each other's buttons, and I don't like it. I know we'll probably never be friends, but… I want to at least get along all right. We have to live together for an entire year, and within a week I've somehow managed to drive you to drink and you're succeeded in making me second-guess myself twice, which is an incredibly rare feat." Twice, Kurt has asked himself, 'what just happened?' and wondered what could have happened if he'd said something different to Karofsky.

Dave shrugs and sets down his packet, choosing to lean backward against his headboard. He blows air out his mouth. "I guess… I'm sorry, then, too," he mutters. He runs his hand through his short chocolate-colored hair. "So… does this mean we're, like, official acquaintances? Or something?"

"Or something," Kurt agrees, smiling, and the way his smile looks causes Dave's breath to hitch in his throat.

Dave quickly diverts his gaze and picks up his packet to distract himself. "Cool."

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**A/N: Progress, progress... but we're not out of the deep water just yet, kiddies. We can't be, not when there's so much _loathing_ underneath it all. Or just well-disgused _loving._ Hurm. ;P**

**Also: HOLY FLYING PSYCHO COWS WITH DEVIL HORNS! The support from all of you is overwhemling! I'm about five chapters in (if you count the prologue), and already I have 50 reviews on the dot and 47 alerts and 18 favs! YOU GUYS MAKE ME SO VERY FUZZY AND WARM INSIDE. 8D**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: So, I have a wife now. BreeZombiee. Yeah, her fic inspired this and now we haven't stopped talking since and we think alike so we decided to get married. And we're totally adopting some Karomel/Kurtofsky/Kurve/Kave babies together. Yup, yup. So if you see Bree around, give her a shout out. She deserves it. ;D**

**Also: WHOA, THIS IS MY LONGEST CHAPTER FOR THIS FIC YET! And it's a little strange, so bear with me. This whole chapter just... spiraled out of control. I got inspiration from all over the place; remarks made in Chris Colfer interviews, shirts worn by the actors, my own little personal fetishes... yeah, don't ask. Whatever. Just read and enjoy, I guess. And please, PLEASE leave a review for this chapter; I need to know if i've screwed up this time. D:**

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**Chapter 5.**

An entire month passes by without much consequence. Kurt is a little proud of himself, because more than once he kept himself from saying a witty comment that could have made a conversation with Dave evolve from being civil to war-like. He was able to avoid any conflict by simply holding his tongue, and more than once he's caught Dave doing the same; opening his mouth, uttering a broken noise, and then closing his trap again.

It hasn't been easy, but they've made it a month in thus far, so it really can't be so awful to live together like each of them initially thought.

One interesting thing is that, within the first week, Dave and Kurt discovered that they share a single class: Thursday afternoon Economics 101, part of the business portion of college, and just part of good general knowledge every freshman should attain simply because they have to make their own living in the American economy now, as adults.

Also within the first week, Kurt had his first actually _gentle_ encounter with Karofsky.

It had gone something like this, the Saturday of their first week of classes…

"_Oh cool, my mom sent me some of my favorite LifeSaver mints," Dave remarks, tearing open a package with his name on it. _

_Out falls a bag of said mints, and Kurt glances back at his locked cabinet, because he still has his cookies and rabbit in there, out of the cardboard, of course, but only about two of the cookies missing. He hasn't had the chance to eat many of them just yet._

"_Want a few?" Dave asks, and it's a curious thing, because Kurt's parents had forgotten to give him some mints like he requested in his e-mail, and yet Dave has some, and is offering them, and didn't even know what Kurt had asked for. _

"_Sure," Kurt replies with a smile. He catches one as Dave tosses it to him, and after unwrapping it, pops it in his mouth. The cool sweetness covers his tongue, distinctly Winterfresh Mint. Smiling broader and shifting the mint to the side of his mouth in his cheek, Kurt turns and unlocks his cabinet and slides back the little door. "Hey, do you want some snickerdoodles or peanut butter cookies? My stepmom sent them to me, but I'm not much one for sweets."_

"_Oh, sure," Dave says in surprise. He grins and holds out a hand while he sits on the edge of his bed. "Can I have a peanut butter one now, before I put a mint in my mouth?"_

_Kurt laughs. "Of course." And he scoops up by the bag, careful to close the cabinet built into his headboard so that the jock doesn't see his rabbit, and proceeds to crawl off his bed and come to sit beside Dave on his. He opens the Ziplock bag and holds it from the bottom, tilting it toward his acquaintance. "Here."_

_Dave sends him a look, one that Kurt can't figure out. Then he digs his hand in, finds a cookie with criss-crossed fork prints on it, and takes a bite. He sends a smile, one gentler than Kurt ever remembers being on Karofsky's face, and hears him say, "Tell your stepmom that she's a great baker."_

_And they sat there like that, striking up bouts of conversation while Dave played his iPod on his stereo, music like Liquido's 'Narcotic' and miscellaneous Blue October and Disturbed songs. The mix was strange but not unpleasant, and while they talked, Kurt found out a few things about Dave Karofsky._

_Like how Dave's true love is hockey, because it's the only sport he feels he's good at, the only time he feels just a little bit graceful (Kurt's word for it, not Dave's; Dave made a face at such a girly term), and the one time when he can use his shoving skills for good instead of evil. _

_Like how Dave's favorite color has always been green, because unlike all of the shades of blue (blue is the most popular favorite color to have, surveys in the past have shown), green is more intense and can mean so many different things. To Dave, dark emerald green means jealousy, soft yellow-green means new life and new beginnings, pale minty green means fresh hope, and vibrant neon lime green means fun and excitement. To him, green makes up different parts of him; or, at least, this is what Kurt feels their conversation implies._

_And like how Dave has always had a strange obsession with hands. He says they're the weirdest, most useful, and most attractive part of a person's body, and tells more about a person than their eyes do. You can assume someone's age by their hands, or how overweight they are, or how much work they've done in their life, all by their hands. "And," Dave admits quietly as he touches one of Kurt's knuckles with a finger, "You know… you have nice hands, Kurt. For a guy, I mean."_

_And something shifts in Kurt, because being complimented like that… it makes his stomach squirm. "Thanks… I guess."_

_The awkwardness after that is as thick as frozen margarine, the silence filled only by the sound of the mint in Kurt's mouth clanking against his teeth as he shifts it in mouth and the munching of the cookie in Dave's mouth. The music helps a bit, too, but not enough to clear the unsettling feeling between them._

_Kurt decides to shatter the silence (once his mint is gone) by offering three facts about himself in return. He blurts out, "Sometimes I sleepwalk or sleep-eat or sleep-shop online, I used to be obsessed with Transformers, and despite popular belief, I'm not the biggest fan of pink, especially not any of the cotton-candy variety of shades."_

_Dave frowns before raising a brow in confusion, but as the meaning behind the outburst occurs to him, he smiles. "I never thought you'd like the color pink much, anyway. Gay or not, what guy loves pink? A guy is a guy, after all. And the Transformers? I loved them as a kid, too. Did you see the newer movies? What am I saying, of course you have. And as for the sleepwalking thing… I hope you don't sleepwalk out of the building, Hummel. I would hate to have to chase after you so you didn't hurt yourself. But that sleep-shopping thing is insane. Did you get in trouble for that?"_

"_Many times," Kurt declares with a short giggle born of embarrassment. "I've charged a few very meaningless things on my father's credit card by doing so. I once subconsciously bought a life-size cardboard cutout of Hugh Jackman from that Wolverine movie. I don't even like X-Men, or Hugh Jackass as my father refers to him as, and I immediately disposed of it by selling it to some girl with purple hair and a panda t-shirt on." He shakes his head. "I'm silly, aren't I?"_

_Karofsky smirks. "Completely."_

_Kurt hangs his head. "I know…"_

"_But… I'm worse. I'm not even 'silly.' I have no fun quirks. I'm just a jerk."_

_Kurt glances up. "But you're not being a jerk right now." He shifts uncomfortably away from Dave on the bed. "That is to say, at the moment… you're being relatively decent."_

"_It's only because you gave me cookies," Dave jokes. "But seriously, I have such asshole tendencies. Don't be surprised if I get mad at you, like, _tomorrow_ for something random. It's just how I am." He rakes his nails through his hair, onto his scalp; a nervous tick of his. "So I guess… don't expect a lot out of me because of this, okay?"_

"_Oh, I wasn't planning on it. I know that you're a bully and a prick through and through," Kurt laughs, because he doesn't mean it. He can tell: somewhere in this dastardly fellow in front of him there's someone wholesome, a scrap of someone worthwhile. Now, if he can just _unlock_ this magical version of Karofsky somehow… well, then, he won't have to worry about the remainder of the school year very much._

But enough about that. The moment passed, they parted again, and things went back to semi-normal. That moment had been something special, though. Something different. And Kurt would like to think that it's a sign of some sort, an indication that Dave might be able to be changed for good (not to quote Wicked again).

**XXX**

One night, things get ugly.

It's going on month number two, about a week into it in fact, when Kurt can't stand his roomie's mess any longer.

"Okay, I've tolerated it for a week now because I figured, 'Oh, school is rough, and sometimes even I can't keep up on my cleaning.' But this? This is ridiculous, Karofsky! When was the last time you did your _laundry?_ It's scattered all over the floor, and I can barely find anything in the garbage messes you keep leaving on just about every flat surface! Where is your sense of hygiene? Your body is clean every day, sure, but what about your _room?_ For example, do you _see _this?" Kurt holds up something in his latex gloved hands, and the item in question is unable to be identified as food, a wrapper, or a dirty sock. "I think this was an apple core at one point! Do you see my dilemma? I swear, this is like living with Pig Pen from Peanuts, but at least the little dust cloud that follows him around isn't cluttered with debris!"

During his rant, Dave had only been growing redder and redder with anger. And now, he finally explodes. He uses his height (what little there is left of it, since Hummel keeps shooting up like a beanstalk, damn him) against his opponent as he argues back, "We can't all be little neat-freak martyrs like you, Hummel! If you want it cleaned so badly, then fine, I'll do it! You don't need to nag me and bitch me out like my mother, okay? Why do you even think I haven't been picking up after myself? Because I figured, 'Hey, cool, my mom's not here to cuss at me for being messy! Hahaha!' And you know, I figured, with you as a roommate, you'd just keep it clean yourself. But fine_, whatever_; if I have to do it myself, I fucking will! Just stop _yelling_ at me and I'll start! Look, here I go right now, ooh, and it's so impressive, isn't it? Such a relief that I know how to fucking pick up a trash bag and put shit inside of it!"

"Yeah, it truly is! Look at that; the desk surface is nearly visible!" Kurt mocks with false surprise. "At least now I can get more of my homework done without the place reeking of leftovers and dirty laundry. And would it _kill_ you to dust around your shelves and whatnot, or at least clean your sheets? I swear, I can already feel myself developing dust mite allergies."

"Sure, fine, what_ever_! God, just get off my fucking back and I'll _do_ it! I can't clean when you're standing over me like that, narrowing your fucking eyes and pursing your fucking lips, as if it'll make me move any faster!" Dave hisses back.

And round and round it goes.

But not half a week later, in their now-kept-immaculate dorm room, Dave gets up to go pee in the middle of the night. When he shuffles back to his bed, about to get into it again and resume sleeping, he glances briefly over at Kurt, just to get a glimpse, just to confirm something inside of himself.

Except as Dave does so, he notices something beneath Kurt's forearms where he lays on his back, his arms folded across the expanse of his chest. Dave drops the covers in his hand and steps over the short aisle between their twin beds to blink at the object, trying to place what it is in his hazy, sleepy brain.

It's… a rabbit. There are the ears, and those are the big hopping feet, and that's its little nose and its little beady green eyes, all illuminated in the streetlamp light peeking in through the window. A stuffed rabbit, old and worn with love, but seemingly clean (like everything else involving Kurt). Dave reaches down and slides the toy out from under Kurt's loose grip, turning it over in his meaty hands.

It's… adorable, and neutral-gendered, as if a little boy or a little girl could own and love this, straight or gay or not. And it smells overwhelmingly like Kurt, as if the boy had taken a piece of his essence and smothered the stuffed animal in it. Dave thoughtlessly returns the doll to its proper place. He could totally make fun of Kurt with sleeping with a toy rabbit as a college-aged young man, but… it wouldn't feel right. It feels far more intrusive than every poking fun at Kurt's sexuality or choice of after school activities.

So Dave drops it. He pretends he hadn't seen a thing, and acts as though he doesn't find Kurt Hummel completely and utterly charming for being sensitive enough to still crave the comfort of childhood and of home via cradling a stuffed toy to his chest at night.

And on that note, the jock does his business and then falls back into his bed and into slumber.

**XXX**

"So, who is she?" Kurt remarks with friendly, genuine interest as Dave says goodbye to some girl in the hallway and casually slips back into his dormitory room.

"Huh?" Dave poses, clueless as to what Kurt had just asked.

"I said, 'Who is she?'" he repeats with a laugh. "She was pretty. And she seemed less-slutty than the usual college girl type."

"Oh… yeah, I guess," Dave huffs. He drops down onto his bed, back hunched a bit. "She's a sorority girl. Her name is Amber." He wrinkles his nose. "She's way too thin. I could snap her like a toothpick. Why the fuck is she into me? All I did was accidentally ram into her when going to a class, and I felt bad since she totally fell right on her face, and I thought I'd just help her pick up her books since, you know, I don't like hurting girls and I wanted to make it up to her, but…" His eyebrows pucker. "She kept buggin' me. I think she wants me to ask her out."

"So why don't you?" Kurt mutters, and this is a test. He's waiting to see if Karofsky will even remotely hint that he's not into girls at all, and that he likes guys.

"Isn't it obvious? I'd crush her! I'm way too beefy for her. If I tried to kiss her, she's probably split in half. And I don't even want to think about how sex with her would work out," he snorts pessimistically. "Besides, she's a total ditz. She Kept blabbing on and on about Twilight and how cool it would be to date a vampire and then she tried to impress me, I think, by singing that 'A Thousand Miles' song, you know, the one with the girl on piano? Anyway, she tried singing, but she only succeeded in making my ears bleed. She sounded like a dying raccoon."

Kurt barely contains his laughter. He winds up snorting, and then deadpanning when he catches Dave cracking a smile at the piggy noise. "Um. I'm sorry to hear that," Kurt says. "But it seems to me that despite the fact that there is an entire sea of beautiful little girl fishies swimming up to your side, asking you to be theirs, you keep either scaring them off by flashing your shark teeth or you dismiss them completely. It's been almost three months now, Dave. Why haven't you dated any of these girls? They all have the hots for you, and you keep swatting them away like flies."

Dave stands tensely. "Are you implying that I'm not into chicks, Hummel? Are you trying to say that I'm _like you_?"

Kurt immediately loses his smile and his shaped eyebrows lower. "No. I was only teasing. But now that you mention it, maybe I am implying exactly that. These girls are throwing themselves at you – I know, I've seen it – and yet you keep turning them down, and once when you _did_ say yes just last week, you stood the poor girl up!"

"That – I had something to do that time! That doesn't count!" He yells, and he pokes a finger to Kurt's chest. Kurt winces; that hurt. Dave goes on furiously, "Look, I don't have to explain myself to you, Hummel. I dig women, okay? I do! Don't look at me like you think you know better, because you _don't._ I could have any of those girls in a heartbeat if I wanted them. I could get it up over any one of them, because you're right, they are all hot. I just don't feel like it lately, okay? So leave me alone, faggot!"

And he shoves Kurt for good measure before storming out of the room and chasing after Amber. Maybe he _should _sleep with her, just to cool his jets, just to get lost in something for a while, and maybe if she rides him, she won't get broken, and it could work. It _could._ And then Dave could finally get rid of the morning woods he wakes up with every so often after another dream about the creamy-skinned boy across the room from him. And then Dave could be fucking _normal._

But fuck, he can't do it. Halfway through the dorm building, Dave turns around, heads back a few steps, pivots on his heel, walks forward again, and then flips around one final time to retreat back to his room, his roommate, his rightful place.

Dave hates himself for doing this. Why can't he be strong and fight these feelings? Why is living with Hummel so much worse than missing him while he had gone to that homo-Hogwarts? And _whywhywhy_ does Dave get the feeling that he's developing attachments that run deeper than lust or even friendship, something that skips over and merges both and feels like being trapped and free all at once?

When Karofsky re-enters the room, Kurt gives a startled jolt. He then puts a scowl on his face and chooses not to look the taller male in the eye. "What are you doing back? Did Amber change her mind?"

"No," Dave spits back, "I did. She really isn't worth it. But some girl will be soon, Kurt. Mark my words, I _will_ get laid."

"No need to prove anything to me, _David,"_ Kurt tosses in riposte, "It's clear to me that you are very, very straight. In fact, your heterosexuality is starting to convert me. I can't believe I ever thought you were the one who kissed me back then; how foolish of me. I must have imagined it. You must have been correct after all; it must have been _I_ who made the moves on you that time. So sorry, the misunderstanding won't happen again," he says callously, his voice seeping with sarcasm.

Rage boils and burns its way throughout Dave's blood and hardens his bones, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his fists. He quakes in his shoes, sorely tempted to grab Kurt, spin him around, and beat the daylights out of him.

But Karofsky refrains from doing so, because, really, what would that accomplish? He could do it – he could bruise Hummel's supple flesh effortlessly – but what would that solve? Kurt would only hate him more, their living situation would only worsen, and the tension would only skyrocket instead of dim down to a dull roar.

So instead, Dave kicks the foot of his bed – ignoring how it stings – and picks up his pillow and launches it at the wall before turning and punching his dresser. Kurt flinches each time a sound of impact reaches his ears, but he's grateful that Karofsky is choosing to take his aggressions out on the furniture and not Kurt himself.

When Dave is standing in the middle of the tightly packed room, Kurt turns to him with hands on his hips and asks, "Are you quite finished?"

Dave glares at Kurt and flips him the bird before bending back over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath and calm his adrenaline-pumping heart.

"Oh, real mature." He rolls his eyes and takes a step forward, and then another, until they are barely two feet apart. His hands fall to his sides. "David… please. Tell me why you do this to yourself. Tell me why you can't stand the thought of being homosexual. It isn't nearly as wrong or abnormal or rejected as you think."

"I'm well aware," Karofsky grunts gruffly as he stands up to full height. He stares down at Kurt with a peculiar look in his eyes. Something fiery, but comprehensive. "Okay? I _know._ I've seen it even at this school: gay guys and one lesbo couple who are openly displaying all their affection for each other, all smiles and glitter and rainbows. But that isn't me, all right? I'm not like that. I like horror films and video games and hockey and football and I hate shopping and looking perfect and being clean. By definition, I'm the prime example of a straight guy!"

"…You may fit the mold of society, yes, but what you feel is what you feel, David," Kurt replies a bit more kindly. He tentatively raises a hand and places it on his roommate's shoulder. Dave simply continues staring. "So you have to be honest with me: is society keeping you in a box? Are you actually gay? I won't tell if you are. I'll let you stay as far in the closet as you like for as long as you need to. But I want to know – no, I think I need to know, and have the right to, after all the grief you've caused me – are you gay?"

Those three final words make Dave wince plainly, and he finally breaks his gaze and allows his eyes to roam the room. He leans out of Kurt's touch, because the warm sensation is too much to bear right now.

Quietly, only heard due to their proximity, Dave Karofsky comes clean with a whisper. "Yes… I am."

And it hurts more than anything Dave's ever experienced to finally say it out loud, to himself, to someone else, and it aches so badly that Dave turns and flees the scene, marching out of the room with the posture of a man on Death Row.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: IS IT PATHETIC THAT I CRIED WHILE WRITING THIS? D:**

**The very Dave-ish song that Kurt sings in this is 'Flawed Design' by Stabilo, BTW.**

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**Chapter 6.**

Dave checks into a Motel 8 after taking out his car and driving around town, wasting gas, for over an hour. He didn't put on the radio or a CD while he drove. He didn't do anything but sit in the silence and stew over his thoughts.

_I can't believe it. I actually said it. Dammit, dammit! How dare he make me say it? It's like he has this damn control over me, pressuring me. He made me shove him, made me slushie him, made me kiss him, made me attracted to him, and made me confess what I really, really didn't want to confess, _Dave grumbles mentally as he gnashes his teeth and grips the steering wheel with an iron fist.

Once he's in the motel room, he half-heartedly kicks at the air, chucks a pillow, comes crashing down on the mattress.

They have cleaning ladies here, but everything feels foul and as deep in the wrong as Dave had been in the closet until today. Well, in the closet with himself and someone else, anyway. He's still in it for the rest of the world.

"Tch," Dave scoffs, and forces himself off of the bed.

He wants to go drinking again. The burn of alcohol sounds appealing; something overpoweringly strong would taste best right now, something like vodka or whiskey. The latter preferably straight-up, in a shotglass. Yeah.

Sighing, Dave knows better. He really shouldn't. He's already not planning to go back to his dorm room tonight, and already planning not to go to school tomorrow. He doesn't have to call in sick in college. He can just sleep in and skip classes. His grade might drop, but he can bring it back up later. Right now, he doesn't want to see Kurt's face. He doesn't want to feel vulnerable again. If there is one thing the jock despises, it's feeling weak.

His father always told him to, "buck up, be strong, keep a stiff upper lip, and don't like nobody tell you anything different, because you're strong, David, you're strong."

His father is firm but kind, and if anyone, he might understand even a little what Dave is going through. He might be just a little bit accepting, perhaps a little supportive of Dave telling the truth.

The hockey player's fingertips twitch over his pocket. He could do it – he could pick up his phone, press the speed dial digit, and call home; he could confess to his father, too, since he's already down and doesn't think he can be kicked a peg lower on the Humble Ladder – but he doesn't. Like beating up Kurt, he knows it wouldn't be right. Not now, not yet. He can't come out to his dad (and only his dad, because his mother is a bit bipolar and scares the shit out of Dave) quite yet.

Maybe someday. Maybe soon.

Only as it stands right now, in this moment: Dave can barely wrap his own mind around his sexuality, let alone expect someone else to understand, or at all have the willpower to own up to it enough to tell someone else.

With a scowl, Dave turns and punches a bedpost. He isn't made for this. He's a bully and a coward, and that's all he'll ever be.

He should just move out. He should gather up all of his possessions while Kurt is away, at class, tomorrow. He should bring it all here and sacrifice his rent to pay for a motel room instead. Just to get away, just to escape his sexuality and the one person who knows, the one person who _gets_ it because that one person is the exact same.

Except… how can Dave do that? How could he force his payment on Kurt, or be so much of a sissy that he doesn't show his face again?

"Be strong, David, be strong."

Maybe the strong thing is to face his fears; maybe it's to go back.

But not now. Not tonight. Dave's emotionally exhausted, and feeling too chill in the brisk air conditioning of the motel room.

So he turns down the air, slides between the grimy sheets, and attempts to sleep off his worries for a while; it's the next best thing to drinking.

**XXX**

Kurt debates with himself for a full ten minutes whether or not to go after Dave.

But in the end, he decides that Dave needs his space and is a grown nearly-nineteen-year-old young man, and can take care of himself.

Hopefully.

Maybe Kurt should check all the bars in town, just to make sure…

Shaking his head minutely, Kurt retreats to his bed and curls up in fetal position, his knees close to his chest, his head bowed. Music normally helps him at a time like this.

He attempts to sing a song, one that reminds him of his poor, conflicted roommate:

"_When I was a young boy  
I was honest and I had more self control  
If I was tempted I would  
Run…  
Then when I got older I began to lie to get exactly what I wanted when I wanted it  
And I wanted it.  
Now I'm having trouble differentiating between what I want and what I need to make me  
Happy…  
So instead of thinking I just act before I have a chance to contemplate the consequence of  
Action…_

"_And I will turn off  
And I will shut down  
Burying the voices of my conscience hitting ground.  
And I will turn off  
And I will shut down  
The chemicals are restless in my head..._

_"__'Cause I lie;  
Not because I want to,  
But I seem to need to all the time…  
Yeah, I lie –  
And I don't even know it;  
Maybe this is all a part of my  
Flawed design."_

Kurt's voice wavers at the end and he sighs heavily. He doesn't know why – it could be any combination of a number of reasons – but Karofsky gets to him. He used to get to Kurt solely on the basis of being a bully, getting under Kurt's skin with words that he tried to brush off, with threats and pranks and general harrassment. He used to get to Kurt like no one else could, simply because he was what made Kurt dread school every day.

But now, as Kurt's roommate, as a fellow homosexual… Karofsky gets under Kurt's skin in a different manner entirely.

The soprano asked the jock before: _"What are you so scared of?"_

He meant it as, 'why are you such a homophobic jerk?'

But now it means something else. Now, Kurt wants to ask the same question, only this time, he knows it will mean, 'why are you so afraid of being gay?' What's so terrible about it in Dave's mind? Dave hadn't answered directly; he only admitted his darkest secret, but he failed to explain why it's such a godawful secret to have.

An idea occurs to Kurt. Perking right up, he whips out his cell phone and surfs down his contact list to the D's. Within the third week of rooming together, they decided to swap numbers, if only to save some time and schedule confusion and to alert one or the other if one of them was going to stay out late.

Kurt clicks on Dave's name and lifts his phone to his ear, licking his lips to help wet his dry mouth. It rings four times before Dave answers.

"Kurt," Dave mumbles, sounding half-asleep, but thankfully not drunk. "I don't want to talk right now."

"Then why did you even answer the phone?" Kurt responds with a smile he doesn't even realize is effortlessly making its way onto his lips. "Besides, you can't hide forever."

"I've only been gone, like, two hours tops."

Kurt lifts his chin crossly. "Going on three, actually." Ad he doesn't know why it bothers him so much; Karofsky being Karofsky isn't nearly half as annoying as Dave being Karofsky. In Kurt's mind, Dave is the roommate he gets along with, and Karofsky is the same bully that he's always disliked. And as it stands, Kurt wants to speak with Dave and talk to Dave about Dave's problems, not deal with Karofsky's rudeness.

"What_ever,_ Hummel. What do you want?" Karofsky rumbles lowly.

"I want you to come back. I don't know where you are right now, but you sound sober, and that's a start. Please, Dave. I'm highly opposed to pleading or begging of any sort, but I'm prepared to do just that if you don't immediately comply. I understand how you're feeling and all, Dave, but this isn't the time to sulk. We need to talk. And you know that we do."

"I don't want fucking _anything_ to do with you, Hummel! Just leave me alone." And the phone is disconnected out of nowhere, and Kurt hisses like a cat at how irksome his roommate is being, but he knows that no hang up on the phone is going to yield him. So Kurt calls Karofsky back, this time it taking eight rings, just about to go to voicemail, so Kurt hangs up and calls again. It's another five rings before the jock answers again. "God damn it, Hummel! _What?_"

"Where are you?" Kurt questions right off the bat.

"A Motel 8. Why? What does it matter?" Karofsky grumbles.

"It doesn't. Sorry for bothering you again. See you later," and Kurt is the one to end the call this time, probably leaving Dave stumped. Well, _good._ He needs to be stumped for a while.

On his phone, Kurt searches for the nearest Motel 8. There's one halfway across town, but not too terribly far.

A light drizzle starts to fall on the dim September evening as Kurt rushes outside in an airy but fashionable jacket, a navy umbrella to match lingering above his head as he fumbles for his car keys. The keys slip from his moist fingers and fall onto the damp pavement. "Shit." He bends down, scoops them up, and the rain gets harder. He plops down into his car, checks his phone one last time for directions, and then drives.

It takes approximately half an hour (well, twenty-eight minutes) through rainy, dismal traffic (tons of people rushing home from work while trying not to skid on the wet roads) to the Motel 8. As he comes inside, his hair dripping onto his forehead as he shakes out his umbrella, he goes up to the counter and asks the woman who's behind it, "Um, excuse me, but do you know which room David Karofsky is staying in? He's a friend of mine, and I wanted to pay him a surprise visit." And he sends the girl one of his award-winning smiles.

She grins back. "Oh, sure!" she says, clearly unable to resists his adorably good looks. She's young, in her early to mid-twenties. She has a nose piercing, a sparkly lavender fake-diamond, and her hair is in a layered pixie cut. "He's… in room number twelve, to the left; um, I mean, your right. Would you like a spare cardkey?" she winks.

Kurt flushes minutely. "No, no; barging in is rude. I'll knock. Thanks, though!" And with one last smile he dashes off in the direction she mentioned.

Number seven… number nine… number eleven… He glances to the opposite side. There it is: number twelve.

Taking in a deep breath, Kurt knocks strongly on the door. He feels wet and a little chill and all he wants to do is go back to his dormitory to dry off and make some tea and do some homework, but damn it all, he can't leave his roommate this way. It settles wrong I the pit of Kurt's stomach, because despite his superiority complex with others, Kurt _cares _about others, and he has this powerful sense of justice buried within him. Thus, he needs to set things right again.

The door flies open, and for a second, Kurt thinks he's going to have it slammed shut in his face again.

Instead, Karofsky's jaw falls slack. "…H-Hummel?" he murmurs in utter shock. "Kurt?" he says quieter. His face hardens. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

A shiver runs across the surface of Kurt's skin like static electricity around a balloon. "For someone supposedly smart, you're pretty stupid. You _told_ me where you were, and there really aren't that many Motel 8s in Cincinnati. Now then," he says, holding out a hand, "Let's go. It's ridiculous that you're about to spend the night here when you should be back in your dorm room. And what were you planning to do tomorrow, anyway? All your books and things were back at the room! Where you just going to _skip school_? That's idiotic, David! I expect better from you."

Karofsky adverts his eyes from Kurt's hand. "Come inside for a sec."

"_Gladly,"_ Kurt mutters, because despite the warmth of the late summer night, the early fall rain was _cold._ He steps inside the room, and Dave shuts the door behind him. Kurt keeps on his jacket and shoes, and opts to sit his rain droplet-covered self in a random chair at a small table.

"Kurt… why are you so persistent? Why can't you learn to keep your nose out of things?" Dave suddenly hurls at Kurt, his voice tense but oddly calm, and his hands clenched into fists.

The soprano stands up again. "This involves me too, meathead! Whether you like it or not, you're my _roommate._ I'm partially responsible for you, and vice versa. _Furthermore,_" he says, drawing out the word, "We've had a few moments when we were almost like… like…"

_Please don't say 'lovers.' It was one or two moments of bonding experience, sure, but please don't make this weird. Don't make me face what I don't want to face, _Dave thinks hurriedly.

"Like friends! We've shared things, David. Pain, cookies, secrets. I don't know why, but I understand you so much it actually _hurts,_ not to quote that ninja-themed anime." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Just… talk to me, okay? I have to live with you. I _want_ to get along with you. I don't want the fear between us anymore. I'm about to break under the tension enough as it is," Kurt discloses brusquely. He glances up to peer into Dave's eyes, those once-steely, now-liquefied brownish-hazel eyes. "You said it, Karofsky. You told me what you were. Now you have to _elaborate._ What's so wrong about it?"

"Everything!" Dave shouts, and he looks as though he's on the verge of tears. "I hate it! I _loathe _feeling this way, feeling out of place because everybody I've ever known – my mom, my friends, my teams, my school, my town – has brought me up to believe that guys go with girls, that homosexuality is an abomination, that liking another man is the greatest sin, that I should _fight_ it, or else I… or else I…" and he falters, his voice breaking off like a chip from a iceberg in the sun. He shakes his head frantically, his hands reaching up to grip his head as he licks his lips to speak one last time, sitting down and hunching over himself. "I won't be _me _anymore. I'll be some monster in their eyes, some disgusting creature, and they'll all leave me. They'll abandon me for being… _different."_

Kurt's heart melts. How can he not pity and empathize with and see eye-to-eye with this individual before him, with this person breaking down right before his eyes? How did he ever hate this person?

"Dave…" Kurt breathes tenderly, trying to console the other.

He steps across to where Dave sits at the foot of the single full bed, the covers behind him mussed, and he lays his hand on the taller male's upper back. Dave heaves a sigh, shuddering, as if withholding a sob. Kurt sits beside him on the bed, his legs tightly together and one hand on his knees while the other rubs Dave's back in soothing counterclockwise circles.

"It's okay. If you believe no one else or nothing else, believe _me_ when I say that it's _okay,_ it's not the end of the world. I've been wounded time and time again by people for my sexuality, but look at me: I still have people around me who love me despite it, people who've learned my true nature and don't disown me because, don't you see, Dave? I haven't changed. I haven't lost who I am just because I prefer boys to girls. I'm still who I've always been, and the people around me have adapted." He pauses, his hand ceasing its movement to rest against Dave's neck. "I once told you that being different is the best thing about me. And you know what? I think it's the best thing about you as well. If you just lose your tough-guy persona and take on your true self, others can adapt. Why don't you give it a chance? You don't have to tell anyone or start dating guys or anything. I'm not asking that. I just want you to accept yourself. I want you to see what my eyes have been opening up to see these past couple months: that deep down, you have the potential to be wonderful, David."

Karofsky withdraws his head from his hands, tear trails down his cheeks, and stares at Kurt for a long, long time in the solid, relaxed silence. Then, with another lick to his dry lips, he murmurs hoarsely, "You… really think all that, Kurt?" he mutters in absolute awe.

The soprano flushes a tad and removes his hand. "…Yeah, I do," he surprises himself by saying; not realizing it's the truth until he says so. "I'm not just saying it. I mean it."

Without warning (as things often transpire when it comes to Dave Karofsky), Dave wraps his arms around Kurt tightly, nearly sucking the breath out of the poor boy. Kurt goes rigid before slowly becoming less tense in Dave's arms. He even gives the taller boy a small pat on the back.

"Kurt," Dave whispers, but he fails to complete the thought. He lets the name hang there above them, a question and statement without response, only raw emotion.

And as they part and decide to leave the motel to return to their makeshift college home, Kurt's mind is left as blank as a sheet of paper. He doesn't know how this will change things, or if it even will. Dave could regress; things could turn ugly, into a brawl or another verbal war. But at least for this moment tonight, they are both exhausted and at ease.

They drive back in their separate vehicles, and once they get back, they don't say a word as they go through their nightly regimens and finally, finally lay down in their beds.

"Kurt?" Dave's voice calls out meekly in the darkness.

"Yes?"

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you."

"…I'm sure you will, Dave," Kurt smiles vaguely. "But your empty threats aren't very threatening anymore."

"…I figured as much," the jock sighs. He rolls over onto his side, facing the wall. "But, Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"Just because I told you… what I did…" he mutters, avoiding having to repeat the dreaded confession, "Doesn't mean we're, like, buddies now."

"I thought so," Kurt agrees mildly, staring up at the dark grey ceiling.

"Yeah, but I am grateful to you. I'm mortified as fuck, but… I'm kinda glad that you came after me, and figuratively slapped some sense into me. I needed it. I _deserved_ it." He takes in a shaky breath, and releases it slowly. "And… I'm sorry, but I kinda saw your stuffed rabbit one night. You're such a dork, but a smart dork. I wish I had thought to bring something homey with me. I could use it right now."

"…Want to borrow Bunny-Hops?"

Dave's quiet for a moment, and then bursts into quiet laughter. "No, that's okay. I might be… you know… but I'm not a girl like you. I don't need some toy to comfort me. I'm more of a security blanket kind of guy. I used to carry one around with me as a toddler."

A distant smile reaches Kurt's lips. "That's… adorable, Karofsky."

"Don't push my mood, Hummel," the other replies gruffly. "Let's just go to sleep now."

"Fine by me," Kurt murmurs, and soon, he's lulled to sleep by his roommate's steady, deep breathing.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Want a huge hint about this lengthy chapter? Well, here's one: near the end of reading this, start playing 'Closer' by Nine Inch Nails. ;D**

**HOLY FUCK ON FRENCH TOAST, the overwhemling support for this fanfic is phenomenal! I'm only eight chapters in and already I have over one hundred and ten reviews, and over seventy alerts and about half as many favs? YOU GUYS ARE TOO MUCH. Seriously, you guys give my heart attacks of love and joy. I adore you all. 8D**

**Enjoy your Dave/Kurt loathin'- I mean, lovin'. C;**

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**Chapter 7.**

It's a week to the day after the "Motel 8 Incident" that Dave is startled awake by Kurt's forewarned sleepwalking.

All he feels is a presence lurking over him, startling him out of one of those dreams in which he is falling, falling, and right as he should be hitting the ground, he wakes up. He jolts upright, calms his erratic heart and shallow breathing, his hand to his head. He then peers over and finds Kurt standing in the aisle between their twin beds.

"Kurt?" Dave whispers with uncertainty.

The soprano doesn't say a word. His eyes are open, but his lids are at half-mast, and he isn't blinking very often. When he does, it's slow and measured. He is definitely not himself, Dave concludes.

Kurt presses a knee onto Dave's bed and leans forward. Dave's immediate reaction is to scoot backward. "K-Kurt? I know you're technically asleep, but you should really wake up right now…"

Kurt mumbles something, sleep-talk, and Dave sends the shorter male a questioning look. Then, he hears, "Day-vid."

"Um, yeah?" Is it possible to carry on a conversation with a sleepwalker? It must be, because Kurt is responding by climbing fully onto the bed. Dave presses himself against the wall, careful not to touch the singer.

"Want," Kurt slurs, and his hands reach out, grasping air, but coming so very close to Dave's nose.

Dave's heart skips about five beats and his breathing slows to a dangerously low level of activity. "Wh… what?"

"_Want,"_ Kurt repeats just as softly, just as barely intelligibly. "David."

Dave feels his heart pounding loudly in his temples, and his fingers loosely twitch. Does Kurt's subconscious even know what it's speaking to? Who it's reaching for? Dave hears his name being called, but that can mean nothing, it could –

Kurt's fingers freeze the jock's thoughts in place as they brush over Dave's parted lips. Dave stiffens, fear and desire rising in his chest. Kurt leans forward more, scooting further onto the bed near Dave. His eyes close, and his lips press against Dave's skin, right on his chin – not quite a kiss, just a touch, but it's enough to stir something inside of Dave that shatters his resolve.

He brings his hands up and tenderly grips Kurt's face, linking their mouths.

In this instant, Dave grasps a concept that terrifies him: he is (smitten with?) (doting of?) (fond of?) (devoted to?) (besotted with?) (in love with?) Kurt. Any word he could use, he isn't sure which is the most overpowering, which is the most passionate, which one is born of attraction and loathing and coming to know someone on a level outside of trivial facts like their favorite food or movie, and it's something rooted deep within his chest that Dave can't keep inside, and so he lets it sprout and grow to reach Kurt through the loving kiss he places on he sleepwalking boy's face.

But the intensity and the contact snaps Kurt out of his sleeping trance, and he's suddenly wide-eyed and humming in protest and breaking free of his roommate's grasp.

"What the _Hell,_ Karofsky?" he gasps, stumbling backward, leaping off the bed and retreating to his own.

Dave blinks, lowers his hands, and permits a frown to float onto his face. "You did it, stupid! You sleepwalked into my bed and kissed me!" And it's mostly true. _Mostly._

Kurt touches his fingertips to his mouth before blushing furiously and flopping onto his bed, facing the other direction. He doesn't even want to know why his subconscious would do that. And he isn't sure he believes that he did do it at all. Dave could be lying. He's not bad at it, considering all the years he's spent in very convincing denial about his sexual orientation. And yet he came clean recently, so he could be telling the truth, but if he is…

Kurt shakes his head and snuggles down further into his sheets.

He suddenly feels a hand clamping over his shoulder and yanking him onto his back to stare up at the boy above him.

"Don't do that to me, Hummel," Dave says darkly. "Something's up."

"Nothing is _up,_ Karofsky," Kurt retorts. "I can't control myself when I sleepwalk. It doesn't mean anything."

"No?" Dave inquires, his eyebrow lifting momentarily. "Well, then maybe I should _make_ it mean something." And he bends down and captures Kurt's mouth in a startling kiss.

Kurt's eyelids flutter shut on their own account, his mind teeming with thoughts as speedy as the Mach 5. He can't help himself; his lips start moving in tandem with the jock's, a single hand snaking up from under Dave's chest where the taller boy has him pinned to cling to the back of Dave's neck. Kurt presses upward, deepening the kiss, and he can't begin to think about _why_ he enjoys the feeling of Dave's tongue dancing with his own, or _why_ he wants it so badly, but he does. And he wants it. And he wants Karofsky, because there is something chemical between them; something like loathing, something like well-disguised loving, something like the passion; Kurt had been hoping to find this same feeling in Finn or Blaine, but is instead locating it in the depths of Dave's torn-up heart, and…

And Kurt suddenly bolts upright in bed, staring blankly around the dimly lit dorm room.

…A dream? A dream in which he saw outside of himself, saw himself sleepwalking, and started to make out with Dave? _What the Gucci –_

Kurt slaps a hand to his mouth with a soft clapping sound. He feels his own petal-soft lips under his fingers, but they feel warmer than they should, and a little wet, and just a hair tingly, a ghost of a sensation on his mouth.

Kurt's heart is racing, and something is coiling in the pit of his stomach. He's not… _aroused_, is he?

The soprano glances down at himself and timidly brings the hand from his mouth down to his groin, lightly touching between his legs. Even through the blankets and his nightclothes, there are definitely the beginnings of a half-hardness there.

Feeling dirty, Kurt tiptoes past a sleeping Dave to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and calm himself down. He has the light on, and while it damn near blinds him at first, he's soon seeing perfectly fine, feeling wide awake.

His lips are pinker than normal.

That dream hadn't been _real_ at all, had it?

Puzzled beyond belief, Kurt waits out his waning erection until the partial-risen member is back to normal. He then returns to the main room, biting his lip. He pads over the carpet to where his roommate sleeps. He looks the sleeping boy up and down, searching for clues.

Cautiously, Kurt pokes the jock in the arm. "Dave? Hey, Dave… Dave, wake up."

"Nuhh?" Dave hums, stirring awake with a snort. "Whah issit?"

"Dave, do you feel weird?" Kurt whispers, feeling his face heat up with a telling blush. Good thing it's too dark for either of them to see details.

"Weird how?" Dave yawns, sitting up. He rubs an eye and looks at Kurt.

"Your lips. Do you feel like you've been kissed?" Kurt murmurs, and Dave frowns deeply at him.

"…I dreamt about kissing, but that's not out of the ordinary. Why?" Dave says hesitantly, feeling as though he's treading into shark-infested waters.

"Um… no reason. Go back to bed; sorry for waking you." And Kurt turns to climb back into his bed again.

But Dave catches him by the wrist. "Hummel," he says flatly, "Do you think you sleepwalked or something?"

Kurt doesn't bother to face the other male. "I might have."

"And you think it has something to do with kissing me?"

"…Maybe."

Dave laughs. He actually laughs, and releases Kurt's wrist. "Oh, that's ironic," he scoffs in a whisper.

Kurt frowns and spins to face the other. A tad offended at being laughed at, he challenges in a mirroring whisper, "How so?"

"Just because it'd mean you'd be giving me what I dove in for a couple years back," he replies, casting his gaze to his comforter. He fiddles with a loose thread he finds within reach of his thumb and forefinger. "That second kiss, I mean."

"Oh." Kurt inhales shakily. "Yeah, I guess that is pretty ironic. Heh, heh," he laughs softly. He suddenly sits down on the edge of his roomie's bed. He combs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "Dave, look at me."

Dave obeys, their heads moving at the same time until their eyes lock together. Kurt looks as though he wants to say something, but Dave cuts him off. "There's a lot of sexual tension between us, isn't there?" he states bluntly.

Kurt visibly flinches, his gaze not wavering, but his shoulders clearly growing tense. "…I think so. Where did it come from?"

"It's always been there. You were just oblivious to it before," Karofsky says matter-of-factly. "And it's all my fault, too."

Kurt smiles oddly. "And here I thought you'd go blaming me for it."

Dave waves his hand, as if shoving that fact aside. "No, I'm past all that. Denial is difficult to maintain. I'm just honest, now, since I'm tired of lying to myself… and to you. Last week helped that," he mutters, and Kurt nods sympathetically.

In fact, since that time, Dave's been so much nicer to Kurt. There have been a lot more awkward silences, and at the same time, a lot more moments of ease and evident flirtation with simple gazes and smiles sent Kurt's way.

Kurt contemplates all of this. "I feel… _rushed._ I feel like we skipped over two steps, going from despising each other to…" And he doesn't want to say it, because he isn't sure of it's true on both ends or not, or if he even feels that way for Dave at all (yet), and he's a little scared of the fact that possibly loving Dave is a 'yet.' "Well. We skipped over being friends, anyway."

Dave nods solemnly. "Yeah, I know."

"So, like I said: what does this mean?"

"It means we should go back to sleep and deal with this later, or, I don't know, let things progress the way they have been. I don't mind either way. I'm just tired," Dave sighs, and scratches at his scalp a bit; that nervous tick showing itself again. "So… goodnight."

"Okay. Goodnight," Kurt replies. He isn't sure if he's disappointed or not, but he knows that something has most definitely permanently changed between them now, even though things already had before. Only this time, there is a full alteration. Something unique created between them. Something…_ precious._

Kurt reenters his bed and lies on his back, insomnia striking him. It takes a full hour for him to fall back asleep, unlike Dave, who returns to dreamland within, like, _ten minutes;_ and while it annoys Kurt a little to be stuck with his thoughts for an hour, he doesn't mind the path the thoughts take.

**XXX**

"Fuck you, Kurt." Dave snarls, turning on his heel and storming off.

"Dave, wait! Don't – I-I, this isn't how it seems!" Kurt cries desperately, but the other boy is rushing away, somehow getting out of Kurt's reach before the soprano can take two steps forward.

He had been caught between Jesse and Blaine, the two looming toward him, and he had tried to escape, because he didn't want either of them, didn't want them as friends, and unquestionably not as lovers. He was through with both of them and their 'holier than thou' arrogance and their shallow, shallow hearts that Kurt couldn't stand to be around because he felt like he was becoming one of them on the outside, turning into one of them whenever he was around others, and it made Kurt feel _ill._

"I _loathe_ you!" The jock tosses over his shoulder, and Kurt stops dead in his tracks where he'd been running after the other boy.

"But… I _love _you," Kurt whispers, and a hand reaches from behind him and grabs him, and panic rises in Kurt's chest because it must be Blaine or Jesse trying to snatch him up, and he doesn't want them and their smiling faces, he only wants _Dave's _smiling face, and…

And once again, he bolts upright in bed, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and dry tears running down his face.

"Kurt? Are you okay?" he hears his roommate say, and he looks up to find Dave standing between their beds, one of his hands outstretched, as if just retracted from touching Kurt's shoulder. "I woke to the sound of you… crying. And you were thrashing on the bed like you were running."

The jock stoops down and picks something up off of the floor. It's Bunny-Hops.

"…And you threw this. At me, mainly." He hands it over, and Kurt quietly takes it in his hands.

"…Thank you," Kurt murmurs.

Dave sits down on the edge of Kurt's bed. "Last night you wake me up because you think you kissed me, and now you wake me up again because you're crying. What is going on with you, man?"

Kurt looks away. "Can you turn on a light?"

The taller male frowns slightly, but complies. He reaches over, clicking on the lamp set on the end table between their beds. A soft yellow light lights up the room, and Kurt heaves a sigh of relief of being able to see clearly.

The singer glances over at Dave. "Have you ever felt something so strongly for someone that it physically ached?" he poses with a low, carefully toned voice. He swallows nervously as he awaits a response.

Dave breathes out loudly through his mouth. "Uh… Yes, actually. A few different times."

"Tell me about each of them," Kurt murmurs, trying to get his mind off of his dream.

Dave shifts out of unease, clearly reluctant. He licks his lips and begins with his hands clasping and twisting together between his spread legs, "When I was in first grade, I hated this one kid so much that I would literally tremble every time I saw him and all I wanted to do was beat the shit out of him.

"Another time, when I was a little older, about a fifth grader, I liked this girl so much that my heart would clench in my chest, my breathing would almost stop, every time I saw her. She was a real tomboy; she wore boys' clothes and played in the dirt out on the kickball/baseball field every recess, never caring how dirty she got. She would swear and punch people and her green eyes would flash every time she tied her blond hair up into a ponytail, as if daring you to call her girly, because she knew she was boyish and she liked it.

He pauses. Slowly, he relays, "And then, in high school, there was this one person I met who I'll never forget, because they turned into a combination of the two. Every move they made, every single time they spoke to me, it drove me insane. I wanted to punch them and smack them around; and yet, at the same time, I wanted to hold them close and kiss them and tell them how much I burned for them. I didn't know what sort of burn it was, however; it was like I was attracted to them and disgusted by them at the same time. It was like I detested and adored them. It was like I wanted to get closer to and push them away. Before this person, I never felt anything so… all-consuming," he breathes, and he finally looks Kurt in the eye.

Kurt's mouth feels dry. With slightly widened eyes, he dares to ask, "And… and who was this person? Did I know them?"

Dave nods, a sarcastic smile on his lips. "Yeah, I daresay you knew them better than anyone."

"…Was it a boy?" Kurt questions, and he can feel his heart pounding like a snare drum.

Dave looks hesitant. "Yes."

Kurt can't help himself. He leans forward, and stares Dave directly in the eye, even though the other boy keeps glances back and forth between his own bed (as if wishing he could return to it and end the conversation) and at Kurt (as if he wants to say something but if utterly horrified at how Kurt might react upon hearing it). "Was the boy… _me_?" he whispers, his expression mostly blank save for the sparkle of hope in his eyes.

And Dave can't tolerate this atmosphere or this conversation or _Kurt _any longer. He abruptly stands from Kurt's bed. "You should go back to sleep. We have school in a few hours," he tells Kurt sternly. He moves to his own bed, dropping down onto it. Coldly, he adds, "And you shouldn't ask that, Hummel. You have no place in asking that. What makes you think you're so special, huh? Special enough that you could be that person?"

Something akin to frustration and resentment boils in Kurt's chest, channeling through his adrenaline-laced heartbeats and threading through his fingers like the vibrating hum of a guitar's strings when strummed. He leaps from his bed and shoves Dave against his mattress, forcing the young man to gaze up at him like Dave had made him do in that dream he had the previous night. "I think I'm special because I'm the person you bullied the most. I think I'm special enough because I'm the out gay, the one who's proud to be what he is, and the one person who can teach you to be the same, or at least accepting, and you _know_ it. I think I'm special enough to be that person who stirs so much infatuation and rage inside of you because I'm the guy you kissed, I'm the guy you've been living with for the past several months, and I'm the closest thing you have to a true best friend."

Dave's face is expressionless, and it infuriates Kurt. He soprano grips the collar of Dave's plain white t-shirt and yanks him into sitting position.

"Damn it, David! _Say_ something!"

Scowling, Karofsky bats the other's hand away and shoves him roughly to get him away. "Fine, you want to have this discussion at four thirty in the morning? All right, then let's have it." And he stands as well, and they are about a foot apart, their heights so close to being equal if not for those last two and a half inches that Dave has over Kurt. Dave hisses (trying not to be too loud to warrant any commotion from the neighbors), "_Yes,_ you're right, that guy is _you,_ Kurt Hummel. You drive me insane. I sometimes wish I had never met you, had never had dreams about you, had never been forced into a room for a year with you."

"Is that so?" Kurt hisses back, and steps half a foot closer, and only inches separate them. "Then prove it, Karofsky. If you have the balls to admit that, then go one step further and kiss me. Because I've been having dreams about you, too, and they're beginning to ruin me. And you always seem to ruin me, so why don't you just finish the job?"

"With pleasure," Dave growls, but it doesn't sound angry any longer. In fact, it stuns Kurt for a moment, because the growl sounds throaty and alluring, predatory, as if –

But Kurt can't finish the thought. Dave's hands grip the sides of his face, his mouth is crushing the shorter boys, and it's needy and destructive, and it's warm and smothering, and it's precisely like the first time.

Except this time, Kurt pushes back with all his force, trying to battle Dave, trying to gain some of the ground he always loses when he's up against the other male.

The soprano fists Dave's sleep shirt in his hands, his fingers curled around the fabric and his hand twisted until his wrists face upwards. He can feel Karofsky's heart beating against his knuckles, the beats fierce and jumpy. His own heart flutters in his chest, and something churns and swivels around in Kurt's stomach.

Kurt's teeth slip out and nip at Dave's bottom lip, eliciting a moan. He takes this chance to delve his tongue into the taller's mouth, and in response, the other presses onward, forcing Kurt to back up against the end table where Kurt's iPod alarm clock is stationed. Dave's iPod is in there at the moment, and as Kurt's elbows bump the snooze button, the sensual lyrics of Garbage's 'Number One Crush' drifts eerily up from the speakers at a low, low octave.

Kurt stumbles backward onto his own bed, his mouth still attached to Dave's. Dave pins him down, and this isn't a dream. This is real, this is actually happening, and Kurt's head is reeling as his hormones gladly take control.

Dave is in utter disbelief, but he can't stop himself. Every time he tries, Kurt is dragging him right back with another forceful, delicious kiss, and he can hear himself moaning as Kurt's hands rake down his chest and curve around his sides to push on his back, succeeding in lessening the chasm between them.

Dave groans again as his hands find Kurt's skin under Kurt's pajamas, and he gladly tears open the buttons of the lightly fuzzy fabric until Kurt's chest is exposed.

He breaks their current kiss to let his eyes flicker down to Kurt's milky-pale skin, creamy in color and texture, soft like well-taken-care-of skin is, but taunt, like a boy's should be. And, he notes, there isn't a single chest hair on the boy, and what's even better, Kurt isn't overly muscular or supple; he's lean and lissom and fit and _breathtaking._ And Dave feels like he should be disturbed by the fact that his hands are scanning such a flat surface, such an undoubtedly _male_ body, but he isn't. He loves seeing Kurt's chest more than any girl's of any breast size.

He dips down and can't wait to taste Kurt's skin, and like he imagined, the flesh of Kurt's neck and collarbones and pert buds and abdomen are just as scrumptious as his lips. And even better are the hushed, breathy moans that slip out from his mouth as Dave shamelessly places his moving, wet mouth on scattered parts of Kurt's torso.

Kurt's hands clench behind Dave at his shirt, trying to pull it off, trying to feel skin while he writhes beneath the larger boy, and it amazes Dave to watch and feel all this, because it's as if he has Kurt under a spell, making him dance and sway in ways he never thought he'd witness Kurt move (outside of that little production of 'Push It' that the Glee Club did when it was first formed, and Dave was mesmerized by the way Kurt's hips could move, the way his ass could shake, the way he crawled across the floor or touched down himself).

"Kurt," Dave mumbles into Kurt's skin, his breath tickling the bare skin below Kurt's belly button.

"Wh-what?" Kurt pants, and he's never felt so horny in his life, and it's making him lightheaded and woozy in a dreamy, pleasing manner.

The jock peers up at Kurt from his where he hovers over Kurt's quaking stomach, kneeled in front of the bed between Kurt's dangling legs bent at the knee over the edge. "If you're letting me do this to you… I guess you don't hate me anymore, huh? Not scared me of at all?"

Kurt snorts and props himself up on one elbow while his other hand skims the surface of his roommate's jaw. "Nope. You've lost your bullying mojo, I'm afraid."

"Hmm. Too bad. But at least I get to do this without being pushed away," he smirks, and smugly leans forward to lock lips with Kurt, one hand stabilizing him on the mattress beside Kurt's thigh and the other creeping toward the waistline directly in front of Kurt's crotch.

The soprano breaks the kiss to suck in air sharply enough to slice icily though his lungs. "D-David," he sputters, "Don't."

"Why not?" Dave mutters in Kurt's ear, his tongue darting out to suckle at Kurt's earlobe. It's velvety and warm in his mouth, and just at the bottom of the piece of flesh where Dave's cheek brushes Kurt's sideburns, Dave can feel the faintest peach fuzz on Kurt's ear, and it's adorable. "I want you, Kurt. I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I might even love you, if that's what this all-consuming burn I feel for you is, what it always has been."

Kurt's breath hitches in his throat, and the words shoot directly into his heart. He sighs fluidly and brings his hands up to cling around Dave's neck. He raises his hips and brings Dave onto the bed more. "You know that dream that made me cry?" he confesses in a whisper.

"The one from tonight?"

"The very same," Kurt breathes. He says with a shaky breath, "Well… in it, you told me you hated me, and it cut me deeply, because in that dream… I loved you."

Dave pauses, turning to stone on top of Kurt. "You… you did?"

Kurt nods. He hides his face in Dave's ear. "Don't let me down, Dave. Either mean that or don't, because I hate lies. Don't say you love me just to get into my pants. I want it to come from your heart and soul, because I'm no slut. I won't do anything with you unless you truly like me and want to have something with me."

Dave pulls back, balancing on his hands and knees over Kurt. A tender expression relaxes his eyebrows and cures his parted lips. In the background, Negative's 'One Moment Of Our Love' plays, and it's so fitting that Kurt's heart skips a beat before Dave can even speak. "Kurt… I might get mad at you a lot, and I know I hurt you sometimes, but I _do_ mean it. I've never known real romantic love before, obviously, but I'm sure this is the first time I've felt it."

"And you want to be with me?"

"Yes, more than anything," Dave replies firmly, and Kurt knows that determined look; it's the same he's seen when he caught Dave at the indoor ice rink at the school just last month during a moment of curiosity to see Dave play hockey. It takes Kurt's breath away.

"Okay, then," Kurt mutters, a minute smile gracing his lips. _"Have me."_


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: LOLOLOL THIS CHAPTER IS SOLID SMUT. ENJOY. 8D**

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**Chapter 8.**

Dave seals the promise behind his words with a kiss as soon as Kurt speaks the magic words (_have me, _which sounds like _take me, _which Dave knows means _be mine_). The kiss is fleeting, but in its brief moment of contact, there is everything permanent in that kiss; it's like putting on a top coat on one's nails, or like putting an airtight lid on a container, or like screwing the last bolt on a car engine. It's the final touch, the one thing that let's both of them know: _I'm not letting go of you so easily._

They adjust their position on Kurt's bed (and he's distantly thinking about how his sheets needed to be washed soon anyway, so it's perfectly fine if they get soiled) to lie lengthwise on it comfortably.

"Your clothes are in the way," Dave's voice rumbles lowly, and it sends a tantalizing shiver down Kurt's spine. "_Take. Them. Off."_

And while Dave is a tad too demanding for Kurt's liking, the soprano happily complies anyhow, shrugging off the sleeves of his open shirt and allowing Dave to help him slip off his pajama bottoms and with them, his underwear.

"Boxers or briefs?" Dave chuckles to himself, his hand tossing the clothes away. His hand trails back up one of Kurt's legs, rubbing over the skin of Kurt's milky calf before running over the top of his thigh, pausing halfway to tickle the underside of his knee. "God, Kurt. How come your legs are perfectly glabrous?"

Kurt cracks a smile. Glabrous. 'To be hairless or smooth.' "I'm… impressed you know that word."

Dave shrugs, his hand continuing its journey across the expanse of Kurt's skin, sliding over his hips and stroking a thumb down his inner thigh before the palm of his hand smoothes over Kurt's inner hip and across his lower belly, just barely missing his erection. Kurt squeezes his eyes shut and arches his back, because that just feels so –

Kurt's breathing picks back up into a pant, and while he's annoyed that he's clearly visible in the lamplight and he flushes at how exposed he is, he somehow doesn't mind it as much as he thought he would. Before, having Karofsky see and touch him like this would have been a revolting concept. But in this moment, all Kurt can think about is how he wouldn't have it any other way, and how he only wants Dave to ever see or touch him this way.

"Stop… staring at me, Dave," Kurt pants, his eyes opening again as he glances down at the young man examining his body.

"Sorry," the jock murmurs, his eyes flickering upward to gaze into Kurt's own. "I just… I've never seen something so damn stunning. You're… and I don't mean to make you feel like a girl, Kurt, but… you're _beautiful."_

Kurt tenses, his breath hitching, because he never expected to hear such a thing some someone, let alone something so heartfelt fall from Dave's lips. The taller boy grins deviously suddenly, and he leans upward to attack Kurt's neck with his mouth while that wandering hand decides to none-too-subtly grip Kurt's hard member.

The soprano gasps at both sensations, his back arcing like a small rainbow off of the bed, pressing as close as possible up into Dave's warm, solid chest. "D-Dave," he shudders, his eyes closing again, and he can't stop his hips from rolling in time with the swirling, stroking motions of the hockey player's hand. "Hah, hah… that feels… my _Godga…_ so good, s-so_… Ah!_"

And that's good, because Dave wants to make Kurt feel that way. He wants Kurt to be happy with him, to be pleased by him, because this is like all of Dave's fantasies and secret wishes coming true all in one night. It's hard to imagine that things were completely one-eightied between them not even a week ago, not even a month ago, not even a year ago. To think that they'd be together like this… If someone would have told Dave he'd be giving a handjob to another guy, specifically Hummel, in college, he would have socked that person one in the jaw for accusing him of being gay and he would have been crushed inside because he would have known Kurt would never let him.

But here he is, here _they_ are, and Dave is trying to savor every millisecond of it; every breath, every noise, every reaction and every inch and aspect that makes Kurt _Kurt._

Dave doesn't know why, but it's oddly addicting to grapple with the throbbing organ in his hand. It's slick with pre-come and heated and tender in that firm manner. He isn't quite sure what he's doing outside of his masturbation experiences, so he's trying to recreate his best moments with himself on his lover below him. He rubs along the shaft and gently squeezes the head, his fingers brushing the slit and tunneling back down to the hilt. He must be doing something right, though, even as his uneven fingernails occasionally streak coldly across skin or the rough pads of his palm pump a little too quickly, because with all that, Kurt bursts, and Dave's never seen someone react so violently to being pleasured before.

Kurt throws his arm over his eyes while the back of his free hand flies to his mouth. He bites down on his own hand, hard enough to probably leave a temporary red mark on his tender skin. And Dave is trying to hard to capture all of Kurt's rippling reactions, from the way his cheeks flush and the way he hides himself to the way his stomach clenches and his length twitches in Dave's hand.

Idly, Dave muses how Bunny-Hops fell to the floor long before this started, the poor remnant of childhood and all of its innocence just as lost and forgotten and obsolete as the last bit of himself Kurt saved up until this moment.

When Kurt's done, his body spasming with a final shiver, the hockey jock leans upward and kisses the breathless boy, his dirtied hand wiping somewhere on his pants so that he can bring it up over Kurt's chest, feeling his heart rate attempt to return to normal.

Kurt peels his forearm from his eyes and peeks out from it like the visor of a hat as his gaze locks with his roommate's. "Your turn, I'm assuming?"

Dave blushes the tiniest bit. "You don't have to."

"I _want_ to," Kurt assures, and he sits up, gently pushing Dave backward to sit in front of him. Kurt smiles thoughtlessly as he touches Dave's pants. "Still wearing these?" he questions. "Remove them. _Now_."

And the jock doesn't want to admit how sexy it is that Kurt can order him around as well.

But Dave hesitates. He's not nearly as lovely underneath his clothes as Kurt is. He hates it enough that he's shirtless and Kurt can see how disgusting he is with the fuzz between his pecs and the lack of defined muscles on his stomach, but to remove his pants…? To show Kurt his hairy legs and –

"Dave," Kurt murmurs, forcing the other college freshman out of his thoughts. "Come on. Don't make me self-conscious here; I want to see you, too."

Dave nibbles his lip. An idea occurs to him. He slowly, carefully, stands from the bed and clicks off the lamp, shielding himself in sudden blackness while he drops his sleep pants and boxers.

"Dave! Why'd you do that?" Kurt breathily laughs at Dave's sort of cute embarrassment and utter nonsense. He reaches over to the lamp on his knees, leaning forward to switch the light back on. When he turns back to look Dave in the eye, he realizes two things: one, that Dave is staring (but adverts his eyes when he's caught) at Kurt's bare butt, and two, that Dave really shouldn't hide himself.

Smiling, Kurt knee-walks across the bed to where Dave is leaning against it with one knee on the edge of the mattress. He's looking down at himself, clearly not thinking anything positive.

Kurt approaches him and wraps his arms around his roommate's midsection. He then presses his lips to the divot at the base of the space between Dave's pectorals. He can feel Dave's diaphragm shudder as Dave takes in a deep, nervous breath. "Kurt…"

"Don't be so insecure of yourself," Kurt murmurs with a buzz of moving lips against the skin of Dave's abdomen. He can feel goosebumps rise under his delicate fingers. "I think you're really handsome."

"Am not," Dave grumbles as his hands graze Kurt's trapezius and scale the length of his back to grab his ass. He tugs Kurt upward until their noses bump. Before he gives the shorter boy another kiss, he murmurs, "I'm bulky and no matter how much weight I tried to lose, I'm still stocky. But whatever. I guess my opinion can't outweigh yours, since you're so fuckin' confident of your opinion all the time."

"Damn right I am," Kurt grins, his lips going lax as he leans against the larger male and presses his mouth to the other's. "So don't even try to argue. I like you just the way you are."

"If you start singing Bruno Mars, Hummel, I won't talk to you for a week," Dave smirks, and his hands move up from Kurt's rear to massage his back and hips. Kurt bucks forward, and finally brings Dave on top of him again as he falls backward onto the mattress. It makes a protesting squelch of springs, and with the sound, Dave winces. "You don't think anyone will hear us, do you?"

"It's just after five in the morning. Some people have classes to get to by seven. I don't think anyone cares what they hear," Kurt snorts flippantly. "Now stop talking and roll over, _David_."

A jolt of more arousal (as if that's even possible, but apparently it is) runs straight through Dave's body as he reverses their positions, Kurt now kneeling between Dave's legs, and he can honestly say he's a little thrilled and terrified as Kurt starts kissing and licking down his upper body. He moans softly, his hands gripping Kurt's hips as the soprano purposely presses his re-awakened length to Dave's during the process of the foreplay of his tongue.

"K-Kurt," he gasps, because he realizes that the boy's travels downward aren't ceasing anytime soon. "You're not planning to… to… _Nnguh – Ahh -!_" And he cries out gruffly, only barely catching it in time with his hand to his mouth. Kurt's mouth found a sensitive area just to the left of Dave's treasure trail, and right along his pelvic bone. His hands are gripping the outsides of Dave's thighs, and it's all Dave can do to look away at the erotic sight of Kurt's nose skimming pubic hair before his mouth engulfs one of the sacs of tender flesh beneath Dave's member.

The singer's eyelashes flutter, and he glances upward with a light glisten of spit on his bottom lip. "It's alright," he murmurs. "It's not an obligation so much as it's an odd craving," and the mischievous smile that takes over his lips as he says this is both so bizarrely _Kurt-esque _and so unnaturally _not-Kurt _that it makes Dave's heart leap in his throat. To think Kurt's bravado from high school when his barriers weren't broken down could escalate into this… and to think that, at the same time, he has an air of bashfulness about him.

And Dave's honestly never ached so fiercely for someone in his entire life. God, does he love this boy. Love is the only thing he can possibly describe what Dave is feeling building up behind all of the hormones in his system.

Dave bites back another cry as his hands zoom up into Kurt's messy hair when the boy's lips camp down around the head of his member. He groans in the back of his throat, his toes curling, not at all expected half of the things Kurt starts to do with his tongue up, down, and around Dave's length. He gasps, a partial-choked sound emitting from his lips as Kurt takes half of Dave into his mouth. He starts bobbing his head up and down, and Dave has to close his eyes and look away out of discomfiture and gratification.

"Kurt…" he moans when the singer suckles at the tip, and Dave's mind flashes white and blank like a fresh sheet of snow as he suddenly comes, part of his seed dripping from Kurt's lips and the rest dribbling down onto Kurt's hand around the base.

Cleaning himself by timidly tasting and finally licking away the substance on his hand, Kurt leans upward and folds his arms atop his lover's chest, settling his slim body between Dave's legs as he places his chin on top of his arms. "Hey."

Dave opens his eyes slowly, and then tilts his face downward to look Kurt in the eye. He smiles lazily. "Hey." A frown breezes across his brow. "You're still hard."

"And this matters because…?" Kurt drawls, his eyes slipping shut tiredly.

Dave shrugs. He wraps his arms around Kurt's body and kisses at the forearms in front of him. "Well, I don't want you to feel neglected."

"I'll live," Kurt muses, and slinks his body up enough to plant an unfittingly chaste kiss on Dave's lips, leisure and sweet. "Hey," he says again.

Dave quirks an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"I love you," Kurt murmurs, and proceeds to snuggle down against Dave's body, his arms rubbing across the jock's chest and along his sides until his hands are fisting the sheets. He lays his head in the crook of Dave's neck and inhales his scent. "But you wear me out. I don't think I'm attending my morning classes today."

"Mmm, yeah," the other concurs mildly. He closes his eyes as well, feeling completely as ease. "I don't think I will, either." His hands comb through Kurt's hair gently and softly caress his back. He glances down, smiling, but he freezes when he spies the beginnings of bruises on Kurt's hips. He bolts upright, bringing Kurt with him. "Did I do this?"

Kurt glances at himself as if he can't feel the soreness on his sides. "Oh. I guess you must have at some point. But it's okay," Kurt shrugs. "I didn't even notice until you said something."

"But… Kurt, I hurt you –"

Kurt shakes his head and forces Dave to lie back down; a finger on the hockey player's lips while his other hands pushes him. "_Please,_ Karofsky. You've done so much worse. Shush up. It's nothing, just all part of the throes of passion. I don't mind, honest. A hickey would have been worse; I would have had to wear a scarf for a week had you done that instead," and he smiles.

But Dave doesn't look convinced. "I shouldn't be still hurting you," he whispers.

Kurt sighs and rests himself on Dave again. "Don't worrying about it. So you're a little stronger than you thought; it's no big deal. I just bruise easily." And he shuts his eyes once more. "Now go to sleep, Dave. We have to at least make it to our afternoon and evening classes."

Dave blows air out his mouth and rakes a hand over his scalp before returning it around Kurt. The boy shivers even in the nice temperature of the room, so the jock brings up a throw blanket shoved in the corner by the wall that's thankfully not soiled with semen. He wraps Kurt up in it and kisses him softly on the forehead. "I love you, too," he breathes, but Kurt is already sleeping.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9.**

_Dear Dad and Carole,_

_If I told you what's been happening these past few weeks, you wouldn't believe me. I'm almost afraid to tell you, simply because I myself find it just as ludicrous as you surely will. But it's the truth._

_You know the roommate of mine I've been complaining about via e-mails like this one and on the phone to you? My former bully, Dave Karofsky? Well…_

_Well, he and I have been getting along as of late. In fact, we've had some days where we were like long-lost friends, and others when we were perfect enemies. But through those days that we've been indifferent or completely all right with each other, we've found something in each other. I don't know how to describe it. It's as if something was building up and up little by little, like rain filling a reservoir behind a dam. And then the dam finally burst, and with it, the barrier between Dave and I._

_I know it sounds crazy. I don't believe it half of the time. Somehow, by living with him, I've found out things about him I never would have thought could apply to him, and yet it all makes sense now._

_I'm sorry, I must be rambling something dreadful. The point is…_

_I no longer hate him, Dad. Carole. My bully isn't my bully anymore. He's my roomie and my friend and… well, I love him. And he said that he loves me, too. He probably thinks I didn't hear him, because I was too sleepy to respond, but I had. And it's the weirdest thing because of our history, and yet, I can't hold a grudge against him for it. He's fine, now. I mean, he has a temper, but I'm a crybaby drama-queen, so it all works out in the end._

_I don't know how either of you will respond to this, but I just want you to be included in my life. I won't keep secrets, especially not something as major as my first real boyfriend, love included._

Au revoir, je vous aime tous les deux!_ (Goodbye, I love you both!)_

_Kurt._

_P.S. Would you like to meet him? He's different outside of that poisonous high school atmosphere, I swear. (:_

**XXX**

_Hey Dad,_

_I have something important to tell you. But I don't want Mom to know. So, uh, could you not read her this e-mail? I'm putting my confidence in you that you won't tell her anything until I can tell her myself. She'd be so disappointed in me. I mean, you probably will be too, but despite your strict attitude, I know that you really care about my best interests, Dad. So… here. Let me explain._

_I'm gay, Dad. I know this is probably the worst way to have that father-and-son conversation in which I state, "Guess what, Dad, I'm a faggot!" but this is the only way I can tell you. I don't think I could tell it to you over the phone, let alone to your face. I'm sorry for being spineless; but I've always been that way. Why do you think my grades slipped and I started acting out a couple years back? I was the school bully, Dad. Well, one of them. And we both know that bullies are cowards; it's, like, a proven fact. I hate it, but it's true._

…_That's all I have to say to you, really. Just don't tell Mom, okay? Please? I need time to tell her myself. This is going to hurt her, but I think you can take it in better stride than she could. And her knowing I said that would probably hurt, too, but can you blame me? I mean… you married her, right? You know how she is._

_David._

_P.S. It's not his fault. Please don't blame my roommate, Kurt Hummel. I know you know that he was the out gay at McKinley, but it's not because of him. I think I've always sort of been this way; just meeting him made me realize that I can't contain it deep inside or else I'll only wind up wounding myself. In fact, I think I already have. Kurt's only helping me to heal._

Nervously, Dave saves this as a draft, aiming to send it later, maybe after some revision. But then his mouse lingers near the 'send' button. In a moment of sheer impulse and trepidation, Dave decides _Fuck it,_ and presses 'send.'

And then Dave gets off of the computer and feels like he could really, really use a hot cup of coffee.

**XXX  
**

"I e-mailed my parents today," Kurt announces casually as he sits down on Dave's bed, watching the other play Mass Effect 2. "Carole e-mailed me back first. She wants to meet you." he cracks a smile. "She thinks it's adorable that we worked through our problems enough to fall out of loathing and into love."

Dave stiffens, turning to marble on his bed. His character dies, and then Dave presses 'pause' and twists his body to glance back at Kurt. "Wh-what?"

Kurt smiles. "Don't act so surprised, Dave. It was bound to happen sometime; and besides, Carole is a sweetheart, you'll love her when you meet her."

"No! I mean, yeah, but… _mind running that last part by me again?"_ Dave mutters, emphasizing the second part with a tone that Kurt doesn't fully recognize. There's this slightly wild look in Dave's eyes, as if he were an animal backed into a corner, thrilled and terrified at the same time.

"I said that we worked through our problems enough to fall out of loathing and into love? And that Carole finds this factoid cute?" Kurt repeats, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh." Dave's jaw hangs slack, then snaps back into place. He grins suddenly. "That so?"

Kurt nods. "Yup. Amazing, isn't it?"

"That might be the understatement of the year, Captain Wisecrack."

"Captain Wisecrack?"

Dave laughs, nodding. "Yeah. Didn't you know? He's Captain Obvious's less-attractive older brother."

Kurt falters for a second before chuckling with his adorably awkward laugh. "Wow. Never heard that one before."

"I have my moments." And he turns back to his video game, opting to turn it off. His demeanor shifts subtly from humorous to serious. "Actually… I had one of them earlier today. I e-mailed my dad."

Kurt blinks, trying to read Dave's mood. "And…?"

"And… I told him that I was gay," the jock replies with evident unease. "I still haven't gotten a reply back, but it's only been a few hours. He's probably still working; he doesn't check his personal e-mail until he gets home. So I have an hour or so yet until he most likely reads it." He shakes his head despairingly. "I'm scared, Kurt. I hate to admit it, but I am. Remember what you said about abandonment and all that? Well, I doubt he'd disown me, but he might not like me very much anymore."

"You never know, Dave," Kurt replies softly. "People can surprise you. My dad did; I thought I'd be letting him down because I wasn't the son he wanted – Finn better fits that description, and for a while, it depressed me to know that – but he still loved me. Still supported me. For all we know," he says, trying to smile but feeling too close to tears to manage a very strong one, "Your dad suspected a much, like mine had, or he'll be extremely proud of you for having the courage to confess. You never know," he parrots, and touches feather-light on Dave's forearm. He leans his head against Dave's back as the boy turns around again, facing the paused game screen. "All you can do is wait."

"Why do you have such a way with words, Kurt?" Dave gripes. "Kind of pisses me off that you have that talent, but makes me feel better at the same time."

"That's what I'm here for," Kurt smiles in return, leaning his forehead off of Dave's warm back. He idly brushes his fingers over the fabric of Dave's t-shirt, causing the other boy to shiver.

"Dooon't," Dave groans in complaint, his shoulders rolling. "You're making my back itchy."

"Oh. Sorry," Kurt says with the faintest of flushes. He smiles. "Want me to scratch it for you? I would always scratch my dad's back for him in the morning. He said I have the best nails for it."

Dave pulls an odd facial expression that makes Kurt laugh. "That seems so intimate."

The singer rolls his eyes. "Oh, don't be so ridiculous! I think we've gotten intimate enough with each other already, Dave; or have you forgotten the past two consecutive nights?" He idly trails his fingers down Dave's spine, making the larger boy squirm again.

"Okay, I give, I give!" Dave laughs, and he's hunching his shoulders. "Scratch it!"

"Gladly," Kurt purrs, and lifts Dave's shirt up, bunching it at the top of his back before slipped Dave's head out of the hole to keep the shirt in place off of his back. Kurt begins with small circles, his nails pointed downward on Dave's lightly tanned skin dotted with beauty marks and freckles, and slowly makes his way up and down Dave's back, making his nails rake jaggedly but not too firmly against his skin, leaving temporary white trails.

"God, why does that feel so satisfying?" Dave hums contentedly.

Kurt shrugs as he scratches horizontally across the small of Dave's back. "It's just one of those things, I suppose: the pleasure of having one's hair played with or brushed, the pleasure of having all of one's itches scratched. It's just _nice._ Thoughtful when you're doing it to someone else, and wonderful when you've having it done for you. The same thing goes for massaging headaches or sore feet; it's relief, plain and simple."

"Mm, yeah, I guess that makes sense," Dave murmurs as Kurt's nails leave him and his back feels cool but no longer irritated.

He revolves his shoulders again, sits up straighter, and is about to slip his head back into his shirt and roll it down again when Kurt's hands suddenly return, his lukewarm palms smoothing over the top of Dave's back, curving down along his shoulder blades.

Dave attempts to peer over his shoulder. He quirks a brow. "Kurt? What are you doing?"

The soprano doesn't respond. Dave can't see his face, but Kurt's hands are all-telling. They are calmly gliding down Dave's sides, fingers playing a deaf tune as they weave over Dave's ribs, and Dave's breath hitches in his throat once those hands lightly grip his slight love-handles and the thumbs press on either side of his spine, sliding with careful pressure up to the base of his neck.

"Ah…" Dave gasps lowly, not expecting Kurt's hands to grip his trapezius muscles and start working them, rubbing at his shoulders and neck and all of the muscles Dave didn't know were so painfully stressed until Kurt acknowledged them.

"You really _are_ scared," Kurt mumbles in awe. The pads of his hands roll down either side of Dave's spine, stopping halfway, before the knuckles press into the skin and glide back up again with little resistance. Dave sucks in air, because that feels better than he's ever imagined. No one has ever massaged him before, aside from his mom rubbing or squeezing his head a few times when he got a migraine. "I can feel all of your stress up here, in your back. You carry everything on your shoulders, don't you? All your worries, all your pain. No wonder you were such a jerk in high school and why you still have anger issues: you don't know how to let it out, and by bottling it up, it gets stored here, in the most important and strongest part of your body."

And honestly, Dave's never had anybody dissect him like this before (especially while simultaneously massaging him). And it makes him feel vulnerable again, an emotion/reaction that Dave has come to despise more than anything, but somehow, it's not so bad, not when it's just here, alone, with Kurt.

"You should find an outlet besides hockey. The violence is good for some stress, but others? Not so much." He pauses, thinking back to when he hear Dave sing. "You should try singing it all out. It's great for pent-up passion of any kind; why do you think we did so many exercises in Glee Club?" And he's smiling now; Dave can tell by the tone he uses.

Sighing and dropping his shoulders, Dave makes a noncommittal sound in his throat.

"Well, if you ever feel like singing, just start, and if I know the song, I'll gladly join you," Kurt says, leaving the offer open between them. He starts working a knot with his elbow (so soft and smooth, unlike Dave's rough elbows) before moving across to a different spot with the same issue. Kurt then directs, "Lay down."

And Dave gladly removes his shirt completely, shuts off his Xbox, and lays himself down on his bed, Kurt waiting patiently on the edge of it until the transition is made. He then bends down over Dave and hesitates, and Dave idly wonders what Kurt's planning.

With not much warning, Kurt's knuckles start gliding up and down along Dave's spine, working out the last of the kinks. And then, slowly, Dave feels Kurt's body head radiating off of him as the shorter male leans down and presses a kiss to Dave's shoulder, then between his shoulder blade and spine, then moving diagonally to place one on the center of his spine, and then following along the vertebrae until Kurt's mouth is pressing hotly to the base of Dave's back, and it's all Dave can do not to moan as a shudder runs through him.

One of Kurt's nails touches the middle of Dave's back as the heat coming from Kurt's face leaves Dave's skin. "Hey. Want to play a game? It's something my mom taught me when I was little."

Dave pauses. "Um, okay. Sure. What game is it?"

"I'm going to draw on your back with my nail," Kurt remarks, "And you have to guess what it is."

Dave makes a scoffing grunt and rolls onto his side, casing Kurt's finger to drop from his back. "That sounds childish."

"It is. I haven't played it since she died. But it's fun, and feels interesting. Don't you want to at least give it a try?"

"You're so weird," Dave retorts, but he's complying anyhow by rolling over onto his stomach again. "But whatever. All I know is, I'll giving you three pictures and then we have to reverse."

"Sounds fair," Kurt smiles, and he idly puts his nail back on Dave's skin. "Okay, here goes." He draws a circle, that much Dave can tell, but then it feels like bubbles around the circle, and then something long and vertical is in the middle, going down, followed by zigzags horizontally along the bottom and something oval with lines through it attached roughly to the vertical line.

Dave frowns. "God, I don't know. A daisy?"

"Correct!" Kurt smiles. "You have keen senses," he teases, and then his hands smooth down the length of Dave's back to erase the lingering sensations. "Okay, here's the next one."

And they go on like this for twenty minutes, taking turns doing bouts of three drawings on each other's backs until there are temporary pinkish-red marks all over their skin and they are laughing at some of their failed drawings. A blob with circles and rounded triangles supposed to be an airplane, a circle with ears and whiskers supposed to be a cat, and so on. It's strange when you can't see what's being drawn, but you can feel it as though you were a piece of paper being scribbled on.

They sit back-to-back on Dave's bed for a while, their shirts still missing. A light stickiness from sweat develops between their touching skins, but it isn't a bother. Kurt wraps his arms around himself to protect against the slight chill of the room in contrast to their touching spines.

"…Dave?" Kurt poses suddenly, leaning his head back against the other boy's.

"Yeah?"

"Have you checked to see if your dad replied yet?"

Dave nibbles on his bottom lip. "No, not yet. I don't want to. I'm happy right now, and I'm afraid it could dampen my good mood."

"Logical," Kurt agrees, closing his eyes and sighing. He reaches off to the side of him, backward, to locate Dave's hand. He finds it and intertwines their fingers, but the feeling of Kurt's hand in his own causes Dave to push against Kurt's back with his own to give him room to pivot and face his roommate.

Dave doesn't say a word as he takes Kurt's hand in both of his own and starts tracing the lines of Kurt's tendons and bones and veins all hidden – but felt – beneath soft, ivory skin. His pale complexion is flawless; just peachy enough to be healthy, but just pale enough to look like Porcelain. And surprisingly, while Kurt's tears are easier to trigger than Dave's, Kurt is not at all breakable. He's stronger than Dave in a lot of ways, except for physically. Dave could out-bench Kurt with weight lifting or out-play him at sports, but in everything else Kurt does, Dave doesn't compare in strength.

Even now, there are lingering sentiments of hatred and jealousy and rage and violence and fear buried deeply within Dave, some of them against Kurt, most others again himself. But Dave is able to hold himself together and not permit any of those feelings to escape him, because there's no place for them in this moment. However, they're still there. Dave can't pretend that they aren't.

Dave starts massaging Kurt's hands, feeling their tenseness born of Kurt's typing. He types a lot; texting to friends, e-mailing others, writing papers and, once, Dave caught him composing a poem or song lyric. Kurt is a writer, even if he doesn't want to pursue it as a career or use it outside of communication and class work. Even so, work is work, and his hands tell all.

Dave gently rests Kurt's hand in the boy's lap before taking the other and feeling the wrist crack and the fingers, too, as Dave starts rubbing the tension out of this appendage, too. Kurt is mesmerized the entire time, his eyes focusing and un-focusing on Dave's hands moving over his own, lightly tan on pale peach, digging in all the right places and soothing the tendons and bones.

Kurt feels himself relax as Dave stops messaging to slide his fingers in between the spaces of Kurt's finger, their palms pressed together. Dave takes the other hand and does the same, and then follows Kurt's eyes, realizing they're on Dave's lips, and the jock smiles and leans in, giving Kurt what he's hinting to have. Their lips meet halfway, and it's the sort of kiss that feels like magnets joining together, like puzzle pieces snapping into place, like water filling the cracks between rounded river stones.

Kurt pulls out of the kiss and takes his hands away from Dave's. "I think I heard your phone ping."

Tightening his jaw because he hates it when other things in life ruin moments, Dave withdraws his phone from his jeans pocket and checks the screen.

It's an e-mail alert message. From his father.

Kurt peers over and spies the sender. "Oh." He leans back, watching for a reaction, but none comes. Dave simply stares down at the device in his hands as if debating with himself on what to do. "Want me to leave? After reading, you might need to call him, and I don't think it's a conversation you'd want me to hear."

"No," Dave nods, "I wouldn't want you to hear it. It's okay if you go."

Kurt nods as well, fully comprehensive. He gets off of Dave's bed, finds his shirt, and slips it on. He grips the side of Dave's head, yanks the jock toward him, and places a thick kiss on Dave's forehead. He then grabs a light jacket and his keys. "I'm going to go to Starbucks. Do you want anything? I'll bring you back something. I'll pay for it, too."

Dave clicks the 'open' button and starts to read. "Yeah, that'd be great. Get me something hot and bitter, okay?"

"Starbucks rarely does 'bitter,' but I'll try my best," Kurt smiles minutely before exiting.

And Dave is left alone, his eyes scanning the screen. He licks his lips, glances away, and then looks back at the e-mail. He then blinks back tears prior to dialing his father's cell phone number.

They need to talk. _Badly._


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10.**

Kurt thoughtlessly toddles around the coffee shop while he waits for his orders. He's worried; what is happening with his poor lover at the moment? Is the athlete all right? How has his father taken the news Dave so boldly decided to give the middle-aged man?

A sudden text pops up on Kurt's phone. He brings it up and checks its sender: Blaine. It reads, '_How are things with your insufferable roomie, bb?'_

Kurt snorts. He texts back, _'Perfectly fine, actually. I'm sorry for keeping you out of the loop, but… I'm actually dating him now. Well, sorta. Mostly. We don't go out much, but we're with each other a lot more now on really good terms. And he said that he loved me. (:'_

There's a short pause, and then Blaine texts back, '_SHAME ON YOU, MISTER! Really, how could you keep your BFF Blaine out of the loop like that? And here I was about to ask you out on a date myself because I've always liked you and as it happens, I've discovered that Jesse St. James is actually a double-crossing bastard.'_

'_I could have told you that about him. But WHAAAAT? Ask me out? Blaine… I'm sorry, but you couldn't have timed this out worse. I was totally into you when I was at Dalton, but now… well, I love Dave. I'm so sorry.'_

'_#sigh# I know… I feel like such a fool. But at least I know now that the ballet Jesse was into wasn't for the girls, but for the guys. He's more than a little bi-curious, my young friend. Anyway, I have to go. I'll ttys. Have a good day, Kurtie.' _And this is the last he hears/reads from Blaine for the rest of the day.

Startled out of his texting trance, Kurt glances upward at the sound of his order being called.

"One apple chai latte and one house blend withou' sugar?" that Irish guy, Jason, says. Kurt turns on his heel and steps over to retrieve the beverages.

"Thanks," Kurt murmurs, taking the cups into his hands. He blows on the chai latte, wanting it to cool off enough to take a sip because he really, really wants that hot-apple-cider-meets-spicy-Asian-tea flavor on his tongue right about now.

Jason eyes him. "Hey, 'ave I see ye in here before? Ya look famil'ar."

Kurt smiles politely. "I stop in here every so often. Sometimes when you've been behind the counter," he remarks, and lifts the chai to his mouth to inhale the spicy, sweet, appley-sharp steam before taking a tentative taste. It burns his tongue, and makes him jerk his head backward.

"C_ar_'ful," Jason grins. "Yah… yah, I r'member ye. Wha' tis your name?"

The singer isn't interested in this guy anymore. He has somebody. But he can't be rude, so, non-flirtatiously, he smiles again and replies, "I'm Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

"I 'ppose me nametag might 'splain all, but tha name's Jason. I'm a transfer student at the Univ_ar_sity from Ireland." And he smiles brighter, leaning over the counter at Kurt. "Any chance ye be single, K_ahr_t?"

Kurt has to smile at the boy's accent. It's adorable. But Kurt's also blushing, because this is the second time within minutes that something has tried to compromise his newfound relationship with his roommate. What's the deal today? Is Fate against him or something? Kurt answers, "No, I'm not single. If you would have asked me at the beginning of the year, I would have been available, but not now. I'm terribly sorry."

Jason waves it aside. "Nah, tis nothin' to be sorry abou'. Was my mistake fer not bein' quicker. But y'know, good fer ye! Y'look like someone who should be with someone grand. I hope he treats ye well."

"How could you tell that I was gay, if you don't mind my asking?" Kurt murmurs, because he's always just a tad fearful that he might have painted a neon sign over his head during his high school years.

Jason laughs warmly. "Oh, don' be offended, please. I only could tell 'cause of the way ye talk, that's all. Ye have a soft voice, lovely, like a g_ar_l's, 'cept yers sounds so much prettier, since it's still quite m_ah_nly."

Kurt's blushing furiously by now, raising his cup up to his face to help hide it. "Thank you."

"Ac'shully, I was wonderin': can ye sing? Ye sound like ye can sing. And I'm sorry if I sound like I'm flirtin' with ya, 'cause I know yer taken. But me curiosity gets the better of me sometimes," and he laughs a bit at himself, and his easiness makes Kurt want to smile again.

"I'm flattered, truly," Kurt remarks. "And I know you're only being friendly. So, to answer your inquiry: yes, I can sing. I was in the Glee Club – our show choir – at my school. I enjoy singing; it's one of my major passions."

"That's swell," Jason comments. He drums his hands on the side of the counter. "Well, I won't keep ya; I best be goin' back to work anyhow. Stop by anytime ye feel like some coffee er friendly conv_ar_sation, eh, _Kahrt_?"

The singer nods. "Um… sure. Yeah, I'll do that," and he quickly rushes out of the Starbucks to retreat to his dorm, wondering a jumble of thoughts. Wondering things like: how/why he suddenly became desirable to two other people, and why it matters what Jason thinks of his voice or how Blaine feels toward him, and thinking in general how he hopes that Dave's okay and will like the coffee.

**XXX**

The e-mail from Paul Karofsky simply reads:

_David,_

_I see. That's quite the secret to bear, son._

_There are a few things I'd like to address. Call me. I'll make sure your mother is out of earshot, no worries. I respect your privacy about this and I understand why you want to tell her yourself._

_-Dad._

Inhaling deeply, Dave waits as the dial tone sounds in is ear, ringing only twice before his father picks up.

"Hold on one second, David," his father's calm voice answers, and it soothes Dave's nerves to the point where he no longer feels like crying. He wipes at his eyes and runs his nails through his scalp to help keep his emotions under control. Then: "All right; I'm out of the house on an errand for your mother, so she can't hear us. Please, David, tell me: how in the world did you come to the conclusion that you're homosexual?"

Dave takes in a shaky breath. "I've… never really cared for girls, Dad. I tried to, I really did, but I've always looked at other guys and felt so sick and scared because of it. But I'm in college now, and all I can think about is how I'm an adult and I should finally own up to what I've been noticing since I hit puberty. And that's that I can't help myself. I am what I hated. I'm fucking _queer."_ And the tears threaten to return, but Dave somehow is able to ward them off.

"Shh, son. Don't say that. No matter what, I still care about you, but I need to know: do you fully understand what it is you're saying? Being gay means no wife, no children, no carrying on the Karofsky name, none of that. It's a lonelier life than the life of a straight man, David. And if you aren't careful, it can mean HIV AIDs or other STDs –"

"Don't you think I know that?" the young man growls. "I _do_, Dad. I _know._ But you know what else? I could get STDs from a girl, too. I can adopt kids if I want them, and give them the Karofsky name. And if you ask me about being confused, I swear to you, I'll prove how solid I am in this statement by kissing a guy in front of you if I have to. But Dad… it isn't that bad, right? I can tell you aren't happy with me – fuck, if I know anything about you, it's how low your voice drops when you're angry or disappointed – but come on, cut me some slack, will you?"

Paul is quite for a moment. Then, "I realize that, David. All of that. And I'm trying, I really am. It's very difficult to wrap my mind around; if I can be completely frank with you, I didn't see this coming. I'm in _shock,_ David. You're everything I never thought a gay could be."

"If I've learned anything since high school, it's that gays come in different shapes and sizes and types because they're all just _people, _Dad. Kurt taught me that. He taught me that we're all human, we all sin and make mistakes, and sometimes that happens to be our sexualities. But it's not a mistake we can take back or change," Dave recites like a pro, the words sounding as though someone else is speaking through him, and that he is merely a puppet saying what his puppetmaster directs him to say. Still, the words sound akin to truth, a truth that Dave's been seeking all along.

Paul seems to nod in the silence, his voice agreeable as he remarks next, "You're right, son. I apologize. Look, I have to actually run that errand now instead of driving around the neighborhood; but know that I'm okay with this, I really am. It's a slow, steady, needs-to-be-built-upon sort of 'okay,' but 'okay' nonetheless."

There are suddenly keys in the dorm room lock, and Kurt steps in just as Dave murmurs, "Thanks, Dad. You don't know how much that means to me. Bye," and hangs up.

"What did he say?" Kurt whispers kindly as he hands Dave a coffee, Kurt's own partially drained in his other hand. To Kurt, Dave seems fairly okay, his brows mostly lax and his lips closed but his jaw loose.

Dave takes the drink and sips deeply though the hole in the carryout lid. He then states with a tiny smile, "My dad was a bit judgmental, but overall very calm about what I told him. I blew up some, but he didn't hold it against me. I think it's because an adult now, away at college and stuff." He shifts and takes another gulp of his coffee, liking how it flows down his throat with warmth, different than alcohol and feeling much, much better it as well. "Thanks for getting this. I needed it."

"I thought you might," Kurt tries to smile, choosing to take a seat beside Dave on the athlete's bed. "Is there anything else you need?"

Dave contemplates his current emotional stability and wants/needs of the moment. He chalks his feelings up to be a little numb and twitching for release of some kind to dispel of his remaining nerves and frustrations and to help express some of his relief.

Without a second's hesitation, Karofsky stands and starts getting on his jacket and stuffing his skates and a couple pucks into his duffel bag.

"Dave? Did you have practice today that you forgot about or something?" Kurt questions as he peers over the rim of his latte with a confused expression on his face.

Dave shakes his head briskly, taking a few sips of his coffee in between packing. He stands and tosses the bag over his shoulder. "No. I just need to take a breather, that's all. I'm going to go beat the shit out of these pucks at the school's ice rink. I should be back in an hour. Maybe more." And he hastily heads for the door.

Startled, Kurt can only mutter a quick, "Okay; see you later, then," before Dave is gone, the door shut behind him and his fading footsteps echoing down the hall. Apparently, Dave isn't nearly as okay as Kurt initially thought.

**XXX**

"I've got a lovely bunch of hockey pucks, do-dee-do-do; here they are all lined up in a row, bum-bum-bum; one smack, two smacks, all aimed for someone's head! Give 'em a whack, hit them into the sack, and that's how David scores! Yahoo!" Dave angrily sings to himself to the tune of 'Lovely Bunch of Coconuts.'

Panting, he skates fluidly over to the net and scoops up his pucks, ready to go back to the face-off line in the center when a voice distracts him.

"Like to practice alone, do you?" some guy says, and Dave turns his head to find someone in full gear (unlike Dave himself, who is lacking arm pads and his mask) standing on the edge of the ice near a parked Zamboni.

"Who the fuck are you?" Dave deadpans, spitting out the words defensively.

The guy removes his headgear and balances it on his hip. He smiles. He's strawberry blond with a sleek jaw line and the same perfectly milky-peach complexion as Kurt. And the guy's eyes are a vivid olive green, even at a distance. The guy laughs. "Oh, and you're polite, too."

Dave makes a scoffing sound and returns to tossing the pucks onto the ice. He selects one at random and starts juggling it back and forth with his stick, shuffling it across the ice, swiveling here and there as if dodging imaginary opponents.

Suddenly, another stick juts out of nowhere and snatches the red-orange hunk of plastic away. "Hey!" Dave shouts, and skids on the ice, shredding it, as he comes to a sideways halt in front of the smirking college student.

"We should practice together," the stranger suggests.

Dave violently snatches the puck back as he shoves past the strawberry-blond. "Not interested."

"Why not? It's better when you practice with somebody, since I don't know if you noticed, but during a game, you're not all by your lonesome."

"Shut the fuck up, Ginger. I was just about to leave anyway. I was getting out some issues I have and then I was planning on going back to my dorm. I have homework to do," Dave snaps back as the persistent bastard easily glides in near figure-eights around Dave's lazily skating form.

"Aw, you're no fun," the guy pouts. "And here I thought you might be my new pal."

"What's your deal?" Dave grunts as he turns and faces the weirdo. "Stop acting like a total fag and get out of my way." And the athlete suddenly bites his own tongue, because he once again slipped into his default personality from high school. He feels suddenly disgusted with himself for uttering the slur, especially since it applies to himself and the guy he's trying to return to in a minute here, as soon as this other guy gets out of the way –

"Hey, that's uncalled for!" the guy snaps. "I'm not gay, just friendly. And you're being an asshole. You could at least ask me my name before you go and insult me."

"I don't care what your fucking name is," Dave quips as he moves into the home team's booth and sits on the bench to remove his skates. "So just practice like you planned on doing and leave me the hell alone."

"Sheesh, you're so mean! _Fiiiine,_ I'll leave you be. But I'll be seeing you on the ice, tough guy. After all, I just joined the hockey team, and judging by your jersey, you're already on it. So when the next game rolls around, I hope we can learn to be comrades at the very least." He flashes a cruel grin before waving curtly, skating right on by. "See ya, Karofsky."

And if he were stupid, Dave would yell in riposte, 'How do you know my name?' –But he isn't stupid. His last name is written on his jersey, _duh. _But that doesn't help shake the feeling he has as he leaves the rink that there might be some problems with this bothersome guy later.


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: Like I told a few reviewers last chapter, you guys should know not to worry about Jason or the strawberry blond. They are simply OC characters I plan on _using_ for dramatic purposes and then _disposing of_ like a _dirty condom. _So no worries, eh?**

**On another note, enjoy more Dave and Kurt interaction. This chapter gets a little heated at one point, but it's brief and cute. (LOL, I just love the M-rating! It lets me do whatever my inner fangirl is pleased to do without worrying about much control. I just hope that I'm not losing the flow and am instead only keeping the sexual tension/passion? Eh heh heh...)**

**MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE! (Sorry if you celebrate something else or nothing at all, but Christmas is what I celebrate, so it's what I tell people. Haha, I am so awful; I respect other religions and all, but dammit, I will not be politically corrected just because I _do _have a religion I practice! :0 ) -rant. rant. rantttt. SORRY.**

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**Chapter 11.**

"You won't believe what happened to me today," Kurt groans the following week as soon as Dave returns from hockey practice. He has a game this weekend, and his team is getting in as much time as they can before it in order to perfect their plays.

"Do tell," Dave grunts as he strips off his sweaty shirt and limps into the bathroom, his muscles sore. Skating so much really takes it out of him. He starts running a bath, a steaming hot one, despite how warm he feels. But his muscles need it, even if his skin is on fire.

Kurt leans against the doorway, his arms crossed, while Dave sits on the closed lid of the toilet seat, watching the bathwater fill up. "I went with Blaine to Starbucks, and I know I told you he tried asking me out, but before you get jealous –"

"I'm never jealous of that guy," Dave lies gruffly.

Kurt ignores the remark and continues gracefully, "– We were only out as friends, getting some new clothes since I grew a little bit recently. I don't know if you've taken any notice, but I'm nearly a tall as you now." He smiles. "Anyway, we were getting some coffee and that Irish guy, Jason, was working the register. It was so weird, Dave; Jason got one look at Blaine and grinned really broadly, and in his accent, asked who my friend was. And I was so relieved, because I was thinking, 'Maybe this will get both of them off of my back.' But they clicked instantly, and now I'm a little peeved because Blaine just abandoned me and out time together to go on a spontaneous get-to-know-you-better date with Jason after his shift ended. How rude is that?"

"Very," Dave mutters, only saying it because he knows it's what Kurt wants to hear.

Kurt makes a gesture with his hands. "I know, right? It's such a douchebag move to make, too: ditching a friend for a guy. I never knew how frustrating it was when it happens to girls until it happened to _me._" He shakes his head. "I swear, sometimes I don't even know why I'm still friends with Blaine. He's so incredibly self-centered, even more so than I am! And as endearing I think him and Jason make as a couple, it makes me want to never speak to either of them again and get my coffee elsewhere." The soprano sulks and places his hands on his hips as a pout consumes his facial features. He takes a couple steps into the bathroom and leans against the sink. "What do you think, Dave?"

"I think, 'so long and good riddance,'" the hockey jock retorts with a jeering puff of air. "You don't need either one of those dweebs. One of them is just some random transfer student and the other is a pretentious prick. Stick with your gleeky friends, Kurt. They suit you better, and most of them actually give a damn and have a soul. Unlike Blaine, who only does things if there's something in it for him."

"You don't know that," Kurt murmurs partially in his mentor's defense, although he can't deny some of what his boyfriend said. He nibbles on a fingernail between his lax lips for a moment. Dropping his hand, he notices that the tub is nearly ready. "I'll leave you to your soaking. Feel free to use some of my bath salts for your skin. It helps." And he turns to leave, but Dave catches him by the shirttail.

"Wait, Kurt," Dave sighs, and as the other turns to face him, the athlete glances down at the tiled flooring. "Stay and talk to me some more. There isn't anything here you haven't already seen anyway."

Kurt cracks up, partially from nerves. "True."

Dave stands and offers the toilet to sit on while he undoes his fly and shrugs off his jeans, sticking to his skin from sweating. He drops them and steps into the tub-and-shower-combo after shutting off the faucet. He reclines back, his head resting against the wall. "Dump some of those salts in here, will ya? They actually sound like an okay idea."

"Sure," Kurt murmurs, and cranes his upper body around to reach the cabinet above the toilet. He selects the manliest scent he has, which is basically something lacking a flower in it, and turns back to scatter some of the crystals into the water. They're the sizzling kind, and they bubble with carbon dioxide on contact. Dave sighs and relaxes in the water.

"I take it back. The salts are a _great_ idea." As Dave's eyes close, Kurt smiles a little, thinking how nice it is to see his lover so relaxed.

Kurt raises an eyebrow as he crosses his legs and holds them in place with both hands on his knees. He straightens his back and inquires, "So, was it a rough day at practice?"

"Fuck yes it was," Dave grumbles, his brows puckering in the slightest, but his eyes remaining shut. "I hated it. There's this guy on our team, a ging– uh, well, his hair is actually an orange-ish blond and he doesn't have freckles or anything, but whatever. Point is, he's annoying and his name is fucking _Tyler, _and he's obnoxious as hell. He always shouts an order like he knows better than us and he constantly makes these witty, usually sarcastic remarks, and he flaunts his skills like he's the only player worth having on the team. I swear, I want to knock his teeth in!"

His eyes flash open, and for effect, Dave pounds a fist into the water, making the level in the tub slosh around and spill out some. Kurt grabs the hand towel on the rack by the sink and mops it up. Tossing the towel into a hamper, he stays by the tub's side and folds his arms on the ledge. "Sounds like trouble," he comments idly. He lets slip a hand to skim the surface of the water, his fingers finding a scrap of still-frothing salt clinging to side. He plucks it out and pinches it between his fingers.

Dave rolls his eyes, casting his gaze at a random spot on the ceiling. He shakes his head minutely. "He's worse than you. It's like taking your confidence in yourself and amplifying it times, like, _ten, _throwing in athletic skill and dividing your intelligence in half. That's him in a nutshell, and I fucking _detest _him for it."

Kurt peers over at Dave's face as he flicks the crystal of salt from his fingers. "Well, let's just hope he isn't too much like me, or else this could evolve into a rival scenario."

The jock snorts. "Pfft, like I would even consider it! The guy is a jackass, and he said he was straight besides. And you know, he's not like you enough to be appealing. In fact, he's unlike you in all the ways that make me want to have nothing to do with him, so don't worry about it at all, Kurt."

"That's a relief," the singer grins, chuckling in the back of his throat as his lips remain closed. He casts his gaze from his arms to Dave's nude body inside the tub. "You do realize that you shouldn't have let me stay in here," he says seductively. Dave's eyes dart to connect with Kurt's. The jock visibly swallows. Kurt's smile transforms into a lustful leer. "Because now all I want to do is climb in there with you."

Dave grins sheepishly. "What's stopping you, then, Hummel? Afraid I'd boot you out and call you a pervert? You said so yourself that we're past all that, intimacy-wise." He gestures freely to himself as he sits up more. "There's room. Hop on in, if ya want."

Kurt laughs. "Don't mind if I do," he replies playfully, butterflies dancing in his stomach. He's never even considered something like this before, but the idea is appealing (if not embarrassing), so he decides to indulge. Kurt tosses off his clothing and timidly steps into the water, one foot at a time, and settles himself not on the opposite side, but instead between Dave's legs, his back coming to rest against Dave's sturdy chest. He snuggles into Dave's awaiting arms, liking the feeling of their wet bodies fitting together like this. It's comfy and sensual and all degrees of warm.

Kurt closes his eyes and allows Dave's hands to drip scented water onto his pale skin and run along his sides. The smaller teen hums in approval, and peeking his eyes open he moves to rub his hands along Dave's thighs, working the sore muscles that the athlete must use the most while skating. Dave emits a slightly pained sound, his muscles tensing, before slowly easing into the ministrations.

"You must work so hard," Kurt murmurs. "Hockey looks rough."

"It is," Dave agrees, "But that's why I like it so much." Dave pauses, licking his lips as his hands still against Kurt's soft skin. "Are you… coming to my game this weekend?"

Kurt blinks and then peers over his shoulder. "Of course I am, Dave. Why wouldn't I come and support my boyfriend?"

Dave makes a face at the title, always a little shy and resisting of it, because it implies all that it does: that he and Kurt are homosexual, romantically involved, together, etcetera. He likes the idea in the privacy of their dorm room, but outside of that, where other people are around… it's still a bit unsettling for him. Still he sighs, a small smile touching his lips. "Good. I want you there. Especially if we win."

The singer grins. "I'll be utterly lost while the game goes on, but if you just tell me which score to keep an eye on, I'll know when to cheer." He winks before turning his head to face forward again. "But if your team does win – which I have no doubts that it will – I want to know…" His smile falls, "Will you let me congratulate you? And by that, I mean rush up to you and give you a hug or something?"

Dave tenses; Kurt can feel it against his back, nearly every muscle in Dave's chest and abdomen and even in his legs going rigid. Kurt pulls away and turns in the tub, the water sloshing lightly around him.

"Dave?"

The larger male shakes his head regretfully. "No, Kurt," he whispers, his tone thick with an apology. He doesn't look the slimmer boy in the eye. "I… I won't. I don't want my team to… I mean, I don't think they'd react well, and I know I'd lose my temper and get kicked off the team for fighting if they said anything, and… I just don't want to face all that." He glances up uncertainly. "You mad at me, Kurt?"

At first, Kurt thinks that he is. He thinks he might be hurt, or disappointed, but once he tries stepping into Dave's shoes for a moment about it, he realizes that he isn't angry or wounded or let down whatsoever. So he simply shrugs. "No, not really. I can understand why you feel that way, and I respect you wishes. We can just meet up after the game for a personal celebration." And he smiles reassuringly, to fully convince the boy situated behind him. He turns back to face forward yet again and shifts in place, unconsciously rubbing his rump against Dave's member. The hockey player stiffens, suddenly aroused.

"That's fine and all, but you shouldn't be moving like that," he utters succinctly. He clears his throat once Kurt sends him a questioning look. "Stop, I mean it."

"You don't sound like you mean it," Kurt giggles, and presses his body closer, using his hands on Dave's thighs as a lever. Dave back up as much as he can, but he isn't going anywhere in the small tub. He tries to fidget to force Kurt off of him, but it only makes matters worse. Kurt playfully swirls a pattern on the water-slick surface of Dave's legs. "It's fun teasing you. It's also flattering to think that just by this simple thing I'm making you hot."

"You've always done that," Dave admits with evident irritation. "And it doesn't help that you're so candid about it, and so casual, too. It's fucking infuriating."

"Go on," Kurt encourages. He's blushing heavily, but he can't say he doesn't like the attention. "Since when have I casually turned you on?"

"How about right now by the way you're asking me that like it's no big deal while you're fuckin' _grinding_ against me in a _bathtub_? Or when you ever-so-elegantly sang and danced to '4 Minutes' by Madonna in front of the whole school a few years ago, prancing around in that Cheerios uniform and acting so cavalier about how sexy your voice sounded with those suggestive lyrics?" Dave grinds out, sounding on the brink of either being really angry or about to come. "_Seriously,_ Kurt, you might act all innocent but you're nothing but a damn cocktease."

"Funny," Kurt replies listlessly as he ceases his movements and reclines his head backward onto his lover's shoulder, "Because I would have never pictured – only _dreamed_ – myself as such until you came around. And now the concept amuses me greatly, because it's all for show… and the show is _all for you_."

"_Fuck,"_ is Dave's sole response, his hands gripping tightly on Kurt's hips again, and suddenly, the water feels a little warmer and Dave's looking away, his face flushing, his body subtly spasming. Kurt smirks knowingly and slips out of Dave's grasp onto to turn around and lie chest-to-chest with the jock, whose raised problem is no longer present. "You're the devil," Dave hisses.

Kurt leans up and places a wet kiss on Dave's mouth. Rearing back, he murmurs, "I know I am," and proceeds to reach behind himself to drain the tub and yank the curtain inward as he turns on the shower to rinse them both off. "I think we're done here, don't you?" he winks.

"I hate you," Dave grumbles, forcing himself to stand like Kurt, the water level lowering and lowering from their calves to their ankles to their toes as they rinse off the bath salt and such.

"I love you, too," Kurt teases before stepping out.

The athlete makes a grunting sound before punching the faucet knob, succeeding in shutting off the water flow. The showerhead drips a few final times, and then, in one swift movement, Dave brushes back the shower curtain and steps out onto the mat below.

Kurt is already dying himself off with a fluffy towel. He reaches into the small linen closet and retrieves one for Dave, offering it between them.

"Lighten up, David," Kurt pouts as he turns the towel into a turban on his head and reaches for his lotion bottle. "Don't be like this. So I accidentally –"

"Purposely."

"– _Purposely _made you come in the bathtub; that's no reason to sulk."

Dave shakes his head. "That's not why I feel heavy. I feel guilty that you can pleasure me like that, care about me, but I'm such a wuss that I refuse to let you openly display your feelings for me."

"Is this about what you said when I asked about the game this weekend?" Kurt remarks as he glances up from his leg where his hands have stilled their massaging of the lotion into his skin. He frowns. "I told you I understand that, and forgive you for being so closeted about us. I even told you at the motel a while back that I'm not going to demand you come out to anyone unless you want to. No one ever forced me, so why would I force someone else?"

"I dunno. I just feel like I'm letting you down when I don't let you tell anyone outside of your close friends and family, and when I even refuse to let both of my own parents know, let alone anybody else I'm associated with." He scratches his scalp as he ties his towel around his waist. "G'dammit. I sound stupid."

"Not at all," Kurt murmurs, stepping over to Dave and placing a hand on the taller male's face. "So shut up. For a guy who pretends not to care, you seem to care way too much. It's no big deal."

"You're just saying that," Dave retorts, and unfortunately, he's correct. Kurt doesn't hold grudges like his stepbrother Finn sometimes does, but Kurt has to admit to himself that it is a little bit of a deal. Secretly, Kurt wishes he had a boyfriend that would proudly wear Kurt around like arm candy, but he knows that Dave isn't anywhere near ready for that, and he's fine with it, truly. He doesn't hold it against Karofsky in the least.

"Dave… just forget about it. Okay? Slap on some lotion, get dressed, do your homework, and _stop worrying._ I'll go to your game, cheer you on, and give you a high-five when it's over. And then we can sneak off to a restaurant or something and have dinner; even with some friends, if you're worried about appearances. Is that reasonable or what?" Kurt says with a grip of both of his boyfriend's shoulders and his blue eyes peering up into brownish-hazel ones.

Dave sighs and bats Kurt's hands away. "Yeah. Reasonable. 'M Sorry." And he goes about his routine as instructed, starting with the lotion.

Shrugging, Kurt resumes his own task and when they both emerge from the bathroom, nothing else is said about the matter. They switch off between using the Internet for homework purposes and even assist one another in subjects the opposite isn't as talented with. In the end, things return to normal.

But Dave can't shake the feeling that he's doing something wrong here, and that while Kurt can be bitchy and definitely stand up for himself at times, the smaller boy is actually too kind for his own good.


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: Please don't kill me for this chapter. D:**

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**Chapter 12.**

The night of the game.

Kurt is both enthralled and nauseous over the idea of attending. As he files into the filthy seats around the ice rink behind a shield of plastic a few feet away from his place in the front row, he can't help but feel completely out of his element, as well as feel as though others must be staring at him, somehow keyed in to the fact that _hey, this freshman is totally gay, just look at how clueless about the sport he is, haha, haha, and the way he's dressed, haha, haha, and hey, do you think he has a crush on one of the hockey players? Haha, haha!_

Except nobody is laughing, nobody is making snide remarks, and it's merely a figment born of paranoia in Kurt's brain.

He idly nibbles on a fingernail as he takes his seat and clutches his drink close to his chest; a low-fat hot cocoa, to help with the chill rolling off of the ice in waves.

Kurt spies his roommate in the lineup of hockey players on the home team's bench, all of them waiting for the game to begin. He's number fifteen, the black, red, and white of Cincinnati looking fantastic on him (the red reminding Kurt of McKinley), and accentuating his last name (_Karofsky_) quite nicely. Dave doesn't have his headgear on yet, and he seems to be scanning the growing audience for someone in particular.

The singer grins and makes it easier for his lover by quite subtly making a show of crossing his legs and loudly clearing his throat while glancing in Dave's direction.

The athlete's eyes fall on the pale boy and a smile briefly twitches on his lips before he turns serious and casts his gaze on his coach. But his eyes flicker back to Kurt every so often, and once, he winks, rousing a happy flip in Kurt's stomach.

A loud buzzer sounds, and soon, the teams are lining up in the center of the rink, two guys in particular centered around a hockey puck, glaring down one another.

Kurt leans over to the person beside him, a college girl, perhaps a junior, who is dressed in a jersey too large on her, most likely her boyfriend's. "Um, excuse me," Kurt murmurs to her, and when the blond girl turns to look at him, she smiles cheerfully.

"Yeah?" she asks, leaning over her armrest.

Kurt withholds a blush as he asks a tad diffidently, "I'm sorry, but this is my first game. Can you tell me what positions each of guys are in right now?"

"Over there, near the boys at the face-off is the offense. And back there, by the goalie, is the defense. They defend the goal, you know? Like in soccer. And the offense helps get the puck to the opposite side," she explains with a giggle. "You know, just looking at you, you don't seem like you normally get into something as rugged as hockey. You strike me as a badminton kind of guy."

"No sports strike my interest in general," Kurt admits with a lame chuckle. "But… my roommate is on the team, so I came to support him. He's… a good friend of mine, now."

"How sweet of you," the girl says with a smile. "My boyfriend is on the team. He's that one right there, number ten. He's on the offense." She beams down at him before calling out, "I love you, Tyler! WHOO!" The girl leans back in her seat before pivoting back to Kurt. "I'm Alyssa, by the way. What's your name?"

"Kurt," he tells her, grinning back. "And you know… I think I recognize you from somewhere."

She laughs a little, her brown eyes lighting up. "Do you? We might be in a class together, but with so many people in one lecture hall I can never be sure." She shrugs, ever smiling, and distractedly turns back to the game, shouting aggressively, "HEY, THAT WAS TOTALLY A FOUL! Come on, Tyler, honey! I know you got it in you to bash that guy's brains in!"

Kurt blinks, fully taken aback by the curvy girl. She's not at all chubby, but she has wide hips and large breasts hidden her that jersey of her boyfriend's (the name _Jurcen _printed on the back). Alyssa is surprisingly energetic and loud, and a bit of a tomboy despite her makeup and perfectly fixed hair.

"Goodness, I wasn't aware that I was supposed to call things out at every turn," Kurt mutters, completely astonished by the heated atmosphere despite the chilly temperature of the room.

Alyssa turns back to him and laughs, slapping his knee lightly. "Oh, don't sweat it, Kurt. This is just me and a few other die-hard fans acting crazy; we know it's not for everybody." She winks before turning back to watch the game. "Besides, I've always been more of a tomboy, getting my head into sports instead of celebrity gossip magazines." Her face turns sour, and this time, she leaps out of her seat. "Tyler! What'd you do to get benched this time?" She sighs in exasperation and plops back into her seat. "Sorry about that," she says to Kurt as their eyes meet again. "I always have to yell at him. He doesn't focus unless I keep him in line while he plays." She giggles to herself. "I guess I'm like his muse or something."

"I guess so," Kurt remarks, not sure what to say to this girl. She's out there, but he kind of likes her. She's got spunk.

"So, which one is your roommate?" Alyssa asks, now preoccupied with the other plays besides her boyfriend.

"Um, number fifteen," Kurt replies dimly. At this very moment, Fifteen is charging down the rink with the puck shuffling between back and forth bumps of his stick at shockingly fast speeds, Kurt's eyes racing to keep up. Then, with a large whoosh backward, keeping it below the waist, as is proper etiquette (something Kurt remembers being told to the gym classes of previous years repeatedly), Karofsky rears back and strikes the puck. It goes flying, a black blur, until it collides with the back of the goal's net, the goalie unable to block it with a single part of his body.

Kurt leaps up and cheers, because even if he doesn't know hockey, he knows a goal when he sees one. "Yeah, whoo-hoo!" he calls out meekly, his smile tearing ear to ear. "Did you see that? He did it!"

"Wow," Alyssa whistles lowly, "Your friend is awesome. He totally shoved that guy out of his way, but did it cleanly, and snatched the puck right out from under him! And he made a goal without even pausing! He's amazing, seriously. He makes my Ty-Ty look like a wimp." And she laughs like it's the best joke she ever heard. "Ahh, man. That's priceless." She shakes her head, still smiling. Glancing at Kurt, she adds, "Do you know if he's single?"

Kurt washes white, but before he can respond, Alyssa is laughing again.

"Nah, I'm kidding! I love Tyler way too much to dump him. But hey, whoever that guy _is_ dating, she better not let him go, because around here, being a hockey star is almost as big as being a football star, and is just above being a basketball star." Alyssa turns back to the game, momentarily raising a drink to her glossy lips. It appears to be a Coke slushie. "Mm, I think I have to go to the bathroom. Tell me what happens when I get back, okay?" she says, and Kurt dumbly nods as he watches Dave skates back into position for another round.

Honestly, the gleek had no idea that Dave is so skilled at what he does. Kurt had an idea, sure, but he never thought he'd be witnessing it for himself. And while a teeny, tiny part of him is a bit intimidated by Dave's aggressions out on the ice, he's also mesmerized by Dave's grace (even in all that bulky hockey gear) and determination. It's awe-inspiring, and admirable, and just a wee bit of a turn-on.

Kurt shifts in his seat, adjusting himself to lock his knees together and shove his hands into his jacket pockets for warmth. He watches as number fifteen soars across the ice, weaving in between players and slamming a few within reason as he passes the puck to somebody, and that person scores. Kurt cheers again, but less loudly, since Dave isn't the scorer this time. He watches as the process is repeated, over and over, Alyssa returning at some point and Kurt mumbling some of what he saw to her while they both stare at the scoreboard, excitement running through them both.

"This is such a good game!" Alyssa states in a bubbly manner. She has her hands in little fists held up to her chest, her butt bouncing in her seat. "I haven't seen one this good since I was a freshman, and our senior players were around! I dunno what it is about this year's recruits, but we're on fire this season, baby! HUZZAH!" she fist-pumps into the air.

And while Kurt contemplates whom in their right mind still says 'huzzah' like some eighteenth-century colonial, a buzzer sounds and suddenly, like with football, it's half-time.

"Eeee!" Alyssa squeals as she gets out of her seat in a hurry. "Now I can go talk to Tyler real quick! See ya in a little bit, Kurt!" She rushes off.

Shaking his head slightly, Kurt stands from his seat and vaguely hears a radio station being played over the speakers high up in the rafters of the ceiling, the lyrics of Florence and the Machine's 'Dog Days Are Over' flowing out of them in the background.

Kurt stretches, takes a few steps along the aisle in front of the plastic shield, and nearly leaps out of his skin when someone crashes into it, knocking. Kurt turns and finds Dave there, breathless and grinning. "Did you see me out there?" he says, and with a smile, Kurt steps over to the plastic and places a hand over where Dave's glove is on the opposite side.

"Yeah. You were so great; why didn't you tell me that you're a badass out on the ice?" he quips.

Dave shrugs, dropping his arms. "I thought that was obvious." He lifts his chin, nodding in the direction of the seats behind Kurt. "Who was that girl you were chatting with just now?"

"Oh, that's just Alyssa," Kurt answers. "She's number ten's girlfriend."

Dave scowls. "No way. Number ten? He's that ginger jerk I told you about!" he snaps, and Kurt's eye go wide in shock, his mouth falling open for a faltering moment.

"Really? That poor girl!" Kurt gasps. He leans in closer to the plastic. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Dave snorts. "How could I forget who my enemy is?"

"Touché," Kurt relents. He sighs. "Well, that's certainly a problem."

"Why's that?" Dave asks, peering over at his teammates for a moment to deduce whether or not he's been caught chatting with someone yet.

"Because she seems to really like him, but he's an asshole, unbeknownst to her. I feel like I should tell her how horrible he is, but it's not my place, especially since I've never met him myself." Kurt offers a weak smile. "And because, well, I was planning on becoming her friend. She's a bit wild, but she's so cute and fun. And I've missed having gal pals around to chat it up with. She even seems like the type who'd be open to my sexuality."

Dave shrugs, starting to pull away. "Well, don't crush her hopes about Tyler just yet. But go ahead and befriend her, I don't have any issues with that so long as you keep us a secret. Anyway, I gotta go back. See you afterward, Kurt. We're still going out to Applebee's, right?"

"Totally," Kurt smiles. He waves. "Play hard, Karofsky."

"I'll do one better and _win,_ Hummel," Dave grins wolfishly as he slams his headgear back into place and skates effortlessly around the edge of the rink back to his team.

And as it happens, the home team _does _win, and by a good ten points.

Dave rushes out of the locker room, Kurt waiting amidst a clusterfuck of a hundred other bodies, his shoulders hunched closely to his body to be as small as possible and bump into as little of people as he's capable. Dave laughs and barges through the bodies to loop an arm around Kurt's shoulders.

"Let's get out of here!" Dave yells over other voices, acting casual as he removes his arm and yanks his roommate through the crowd. No one seems to notice or care that Dave is holding Kurt's hand instead of his wrist or arm, and Kurt flushes a little. Once outside, they pile into Kurt's car and put on Dave's iPod as Kurt drives to the Applebee's in town.

"That was so much fun," Kurt says breathlessly. "To be frank, Dave, I didn't think I'd like it. I thought I might get bored. But by talking to Alyssa the entire time, I got the rules mostly down-pat and… and I really liked watching you," he adds, his voice softer. He briefly sends his lover a smile before returning his eyes to the road. "You should have gotten a scholarship for your hockey playing."

"The sad thing is, I could have if my grades weren't so bad back in high school for the couple years I bullied you," Dave admits with remorse laced in his tone. He sighs and scrubs his scalp with his callous fingertips for a moment. His gaze then turns to the night outside the passenger-side window. "Good grades and sports go together these days; you'll get kicked off the team without a D- or C-average, depending on the school, and most colleges want the jocks that both play well _and _keep their grades up. I wasn't one of those jocks for a while, and so Cincinnati U didn't want to give me anything special." He shrugs. "But that's all over with. I'm doing what I like here and now, and that's all I care about."

"I'm glad you have that attitude about it," Kurt agrees with a small nod. His tummy rumbles, and he releases a low groan. "Gaga, I'm _starving!_ I forgot to grab lunch, and all I had today was a waffle this morning from IHop."

Dave frowns at his roommate. "Kurt! I told you not to skip meals; it's not healthy," he scolds, and leans over to teasingly punch Kurt in the arm. It hurts a little, but Kurt gives no indication that it does.

"Sorry," he murmurs, and he stops at a light. He looks over at his boyfriend and offers a waning half-smile. "I'll try not to skip any additional meals. And speaking of food…" He grins as the light turns green and he tags along behind another vehicle into a turning lane. "We're here!"

"About time," Dave says. "It's getting late."

"Yeah, well, next time, don't waste time showering and changing just because we're going somewhere. You can just go into the restaurant all sweaty and in the clothes under your uniform," Kurt replies.

"Okay, okay; I won't complain, then, since it clearly bothers you how I look when I go out," Dave retorts as they park and unbuckle their seatbelts. Kurt is the first one out of the car, and Dave soon follows. The parking lot is mostly deserted.

"Hey, Dave," Kurt murmurs, ducking around a tree and dragging a stumbling Dave with him. "No one's around. Can I have a quick one?"

"So needy," Dave smirks, "But I guess I can comply since, y'know, I like 'em needy." And he grasps Kurt's chin in one hand, leaning down to place a slow peck on Kurt's lips.

Kurt hums his approval as they part and continue walking (a few feet apart, Dave's hands in the pockets of his new letterman jacket) toward the entrance of the food joint. They act casual, like two friends up to nothing in particular except getting a bite to eat, and sit at the bar while they wait for a table to open up in the non-smoking section.

Kurt orders a kiddy cocktail, Sierra Mist with maraschino cherry juice poured into it, a cherry on a plastic sword sheathed into the hole of the straw at the top. The soprano gladly removes the cherry, sliding it off with his teeth and chewing with a light smile on his lips.

Dave shakes his head at his friend, choosing to look in another direction. "I don't know you," he jokes, cracking a smile.

Kurt pouts. "No? Then how come we sleep in the same dormitory together?" he jokes right back, and Dave rolls his eyes.

"You're just… so _obvious._ It's a wonder Alyssa didn't –"

"I didn't what?" a girl's voice sounds from behind them, and they both swivel in their barstools to find Alyssa hanging from Tyler-the-jerk's arm. She giggles. "Hi, Kurt! Fancy meeting you here after the game. And oh! Is this your roommate, number fifteen? You didn't tell me he was such a looker!" She pokes Dave with a free hand. "What's your name, Hockey Hero? You totally saved our previously-sucky team, you know."

"I didn't know," Dave mumbles, clearly flattered but trying not to show it. "And it's David."

"So that's your first name!" Tyler grins, eying Dave is a manner that makes Kurt's eye twitch. Alyssa, on the other hand, is oblivious.

"Such a cool name! I've always liked it. My uncle's name is David. It's nice and strong and Biblical. Totally awesome." She takes a seat beside Kurt, forcing her boyfriend next to her. She laces her fingers together, her elbows resting on the bar while her shin rests on her hands. "So, Kurt: where do you and your roomie hail from?"

"Lima, Ohio," Kurt answers. "How did you know we came from the same town?"

Alyssa giggles and tosses her head to brush back her blonde hair without using her folded hands. "I didn't. But you two look like you know each other pretty well, so call it a hunch. Me and Tyler met in college last year; he ended up rooming with my brother, so when I came to visit him, I met my boo." She leans her head off of her hands to rest for a second on Tyler's shoulder. "We totally had a connection right away; Tyler and I like a lot of the same things, it's so great! We both played the clarinet in middle school, we both like Johnny Depp movies, and we both are DDR addicts!" She swoons. "Which leads me to ask: how did you and Dave here – is it okay if I call you Dave? – become friends?"

"Um…" Kurt tries to start, but he isn't sure how much Dave wants him to say. But it clicks in his mind: wait, he doesn't have to control his mouth because of Dave! He's his own person and though he wants to protect Dave's secrets, he isn't some doll that Dave has power over. So, a tad defiantly, Kurt states, "We went to the same high school, obviously, but we were mortal enemies then. He would pick on me, I'd press his buttons, and it was a never-ending cycle. But this year when we got assigned to room together, we were forced to get to know each other better and abandon our high school conceptions of each other. We wound up discovering that we have plenty in common."

This last part is partially a lie, and Kurt is keeping custody a boatload of information, but Alyssa seems not to need anything more than this explanation.

"That's _so_ cool. I mean, it's like something out of a novel I read once! People forced to get along and end up being friends. It's so awesome when stuff like that happens in life! I love it. And you know, some of the best relationships are born out of loathing! Just look at Glinda and Elphaba from Wicked, if you don't mind the musical reference," she says, smiling, and Kurt immediately lights up.

"That's what I thought of when this first happened!" he says enthusiastically. "It was exactly like 'What Is This Feeling?' when they found out who they were roomed together with at the Shiz! I _so_ need to be your best friend, now, Alyssa. You know Wicked, and that makes me _exceptionally_ ecstatic."

Alyssa squeals, _deafeningly_, and both Tyler and Dave rolls their eyes at the girl-chat occurring between them. She reaches out and clasps Kurt's hands. "Ohmigod! Like, my dad is the only man I know who likes Wicked! Mind you, he only does because he saw it with my mom and the rest of our little family one Christmas, but still! You're awesome! Let's totally be friends!"

"Yay!" Kurt replies lamely, and Dave looks away, because as endearing as it is to see Kurt this happy, he's a little fearful about Kurt making it too obvious that he's gay. Because in Tyler's presence, Dave most certainly does not want to be considered gay by association (even though he _is_).

"Kurt?" Alyssa whispers suddenly, leaning in to the singer so she's heard by him alone. Their hands are still clasped between them, and she uses this connection as leverage to bring him close enough to hear her. "I'm sorry to assume this, but… are you gay? You're just… so sensitive, and you dress so well, and you didn't have a clue about hockey when we met, and even said that no sports interest you."

Kurt sighs, his hands sliding out of hers. "Why am I so easy for people to figure out?" he mutters, and he's startled when Alyssa suddenly squeals again.

"Squee!" she says in a high-pitched voice. "I _knew _it! That's so cute!"

Kurt stares at her incredulously. "It… is?"

"_Yes!" _the blonde answers wholeheartedly. She lowers her voice again so that Tyler in specific doesn't hear her. "Don't let Tyler know, since he doesn't seem to approve, but I _adore _homosexuals. I think they're all so brave for going against stupid Ohio and its stupid ideals in society, and I think so many of them are so adorable when they're all dressy like you, and I find boy-love so forbidden and romantic. I totally sneak yaoi manga into my house form my friends. Most of them involve boys in sports, too; I love sports, and gays in sports is so cool to me," Alyssa confesses with a smile behind her hand, and Kurt is beyond flabbergasted. Alyssa pulls back, blushing. "Oh, I'm so sorry if I embarrassed you! I tend to do that. I'm so, so sorry! I'm such a creep. I can totally understand if you don't want to be my friend now." And she offers an apologetic smile.

But Kurt slowly smiles. "No… no, it's fine. I was actually hoping you wouldn't mind me being that way, since you seem so nice. And it's not too terribly creepy; plenty of people have their fetishes, I suppose. I'm just glad you're so accepting."

"What the Hell are you to talking about?" Tyler suddenly cuts in. "No offense or anything, but I'm tired of being the odd-man-out, here. And I think poor Dave is, too."

Dave just shrugs.

Alyssa spins to face her boy. "Ohh, I'm so sorry, love! Kurt and I are bonding, that's all. And hey, is that our table alert thingy? It's lighting up."

Tyler looks down at it. "Oh, so it is." He stands up and walks over to a waitress, and shows it to her, and she smiles, gesturing to a free booth that can easily fit four people. Tyler pauses to glance back at Dave and Kurt at the bar. "You two comin'? There's plenty of room, and by the look of it, Alyssa would love to keep talking to you… Kurt, was it?"

Kurt nods, a smile taking over his features. He grabs his drink and stands from the bar. "Come on, Dave. You and Tyler can talk about hockey or something while Alyssa and I get our girl-chat in." He leans over and whispers hastily, "She knows about me, now." He doesn't stick around to catch Dave's subsequent facial expression. Instead, he simply follows the small group into the booth up a couple stairs and down a short aisle between tables.

The waitress seats them and asks about drinks. Alyssa gets a mango-lemonade, Tyler a root beer, and Dave only asks for a water, which surprises Kurt a bit.

Kurt and Alyssa make sure to sit across from one another so that they can talk openly while maintaining contact with their boyfriends (although the straight couple obviously doesn't know that Dave and Kurt are together in such a way).

Alyssa and Kurt chat idly about the game and Wicked and, eventually, about music. Alyssa can't sing to save her life, she says, but she offhandedly remarks that Tyler can play just about any wind instrument and can hold a note for a long time because of his practiced lungs, but he can't sing on key very well.

At one point, they order their food, and just before it arrives (it always takes a while when Applebee's is this busy), Dave suddenly stands from the table and states something about having to use the restroom.

"Okay," Kurt and Alyssa say at the same time.

A second later, after Dave is out of sight, Tyler stands as well. "I think I need to go to the bathroom, too," he says, and doesn't send a smile as he adds, "Be right back."

"Okay," Alyssa is the lone one to respond this time; Kurt's too busy frowning slightly at the dessert menu in his hands.

As Tyler takes his leave, Kurt idly jokes to his new friend, "How many calories do you think are in this chocolate abomination?"

Meanwhile, Dave is busy washing his hands in the bathroom, trying to recap what's happening here. He's on, like, a _double date_? He can feel his nerves battling in his chest, but he keeps stuffing them down, because he's not some pansy who gets nervous; he's not, he's _not._ He's not at all panicked about getting discovered as being gay by some random nobodies he doesn't care about. He's not worried whatsoever about being two beats away from jumping onto Tyler and beating the shit out of him because he's so damn obnoxious. Oh no, _no. _

The swinging bathroom door suddenly bursts open, and Dave stills while wiping his hands with a paper towel, his eyes finding themselves glaring at Tyler's form.

"Hey," Tyler says, and a weird smile lifts one corner of his mouth.

Dave glowers. "What d'you want, Jurcen?" he snaps.

"You're not very fond of me, huh?" the strawberry blond replies simply. He steps closer, and Dave eyes him suspiciously.

"Not at all," Dave retorts crossly. "You're such a bossy, stuck-up bastard!"

"Well, it's too bad that you think that," Tyler sighs, "Because it seems your friend and my girl get along great…" He steps closer, _too close_, pinning Dave against bumping into the garbage can or an open stall. "And I would love it if we got along, David, because I'm pretty fond of _you._"

And before Dave can duck out of the bathroom, before he can even react to the words, Tyler reaches outward and grips Dave by the shirt collar, yanking him forward, and before Dave knows what's happening, Tyler is pressing a bruising kiss onto the other hockey player's lips.


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: It's 4:30 in the morning and I'm a zombie and I don't know why I'm still awake at this hour, writing, but here I am posting for a third time tonight and I'm damn sleepy, so I'm going to bed. But enjoy this, whenever you read it! XD**

**HOLY SHIZNITS, BATMAN! You guys are so fucking awesome. Ohmiglee, like, SO AWESOME! I have over 200 reviews on this thing, despite the random OCs I inserted against my better judgement and all of the random, humorous (at least to me) drama? Wow. Wowowow. You all just... deserve huge hugs from me~! #cuddles and squeezes and pets all of you like cute little kittens# LOVELOVELOVE YOUUUUU.**

**(...Do you see what sleep deprivation does to me~? I get loopy and affectionate. Oh my.)**

**BTW, before I die, I want to eventually meet Chris Colfer. X3**

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**Chapter 13.**

"What the FUCK are you DOING?" Dave roars, shoving Tyler violently off of him until the slightly taller male stumbles backward and his hip runs into the sharp edge of the line of sinks. The beefier male roughly rubs the sensation of the forceful kiss from his mouth, and even goes as far as to spit into the garbage can near him. Dave flushes from head to toe, a flash of heat running through him. It's something akin to rage and hatred and shame and betrayal.

There's rage because he's furious with Tyler for clearly lying about being straight and he's clearly playing that poor, sweet girl Alyssa; there's hatred without question for Tyler's _everything_; shame lingers in the foreground because Dave suddenly knows how violated and shocked Kurt had felt in the locker room years ago; and betrayal because without meaning to, Dave had just been kissed by someone else while he's dating Kurt.

"I'd say I'm sorry for expressing my feelings the only way I know how, but I'm really not very sorry because you're fuckin' hot," Tyler grins, something dark glittering in his eye. "Just my type, when I'm not hiding behind ditzy fangirls like Alyssa."

_What does Alyssa _see _in him?_ Dave thinks with a mental growl. _This guy is God-awful! Does she even _know _how he acts around other guys when he's at hockey practice, or alone with some guy, like he is right now? I almost feel sorry for her.…_

"You're such an asshole!" Dave hisses, and moves to throw a punch. He lands one directly in Tyler's jaw, and the-gay-who-is-worse-than-simply-in-the-closet howls in pain, feeling something crunch, his jaw weakened. "And you deserve that for playing with a girl's heart and then hitting on me all the time!" In some ways, this Tyler guy is more of a bully than even Dave had been.

For good measure, to make sure that Tyler doesn't get up and follow Dave out any time soon, Dave reels back his foot and jags it sharply into Tyler's groin, hoping that this manwhore becomes incapable of spreading his foul genes to some poor woman's children, a woman whom he eventually marries and screws random guys behind her back.

Dave storms out of the bathroom, leaving Tyler writhing in pain on the dirty public restroom floor, and stomps right up to the table.

"_Kurt._" He addresses lowly, threateningly. "Let's leave. _Right. Now."_

Kurt stands and stares at his roommate with sheer confusion. "Dave…? What's wrong?" he poses cautiously.

Alyssa glances between them, and their orders are on the table. Alyssa looks just as puzzled as Kurt, except less suspicious and more lost. "Um… is everything okay?"

"No!" Dave utters between clenched, grinding teeth to try and keep from making too much of a scene. He grabs a waiter as he walks by and demands that the guy get two foam containers for the food. The waiter doesn't need to be told twice; he scrambles off toward the kitchen for the packages immediately. Dave turns back to his "date" and Alyssa and shakes his head briskly. "Alyssa, I'm sorry, but you'll have to excuse Kurt and I. Something… something just happened, and I need to leave, and he's my ride. Did you two swap numbers yet?"

"Yes, but –"

"Good. Call Kurt later and he'll tell you. It concerns you, but I can't say it here. I'm really sorry, Alyssa," Dave sighs, and then grabs Kurt's wrist and brings him to his feet. "As soon as we pack up our food, we need to get back home," he relays harshly into Kurt's ear, his head bowed near the shorter boy's.

"Dave, you're scaring me," Kurt whispers in response. Dave releases him with a curt tug, and Kurt glances back at Alyssa, who appears to be both afraid from Dave's urgency and worried about what could be wrong.

The waiter appears with the doggie bags, two square containers large enough for each of Kurt and Dave's meals. They dump their plates, say one last goodbye to Alyssa, and flee the scene before Tyler has time to clean himself up and exit the bathroom. "Give me your keys, Kurt," Dave commands, and Kurt doesn't hesitate to obey.

Kurt glances back at the booth when he's at the exit of the restaurant, Dave way ahead of him by about ten paces. When the singer does so, he sees Alyssa's mouth form the words, 'Tyler, what happened in there?' before he turns and pushes his way out of the establishment.

In the car, Dave is in the driver's seat with Kurt's car roaring into life under his strong hands. Kurt doesn't say a word until they are at the light nearest the Applebee's, and that's when he finally opens his mouth.

"Dave, Tyler followed you into the bathroom. Did something happen in there?"

"_Yeah,_" the hockey player hisses vehemently, and he pounds one palm onto the steering wheel when he gets a red light at the last second. "Dammit!"

"David…" Kurt murmurs, and he's seen the man livid before, but never quite as put-off as this. "Tell me what happened," he says firmer. "But first, take a deep breath in and out."

Dave exhales, inhales, and then says with his next exhale, his tone seething, irate, and other synonyms for furious: "Tyler. Kissed. Me."

Kurt doesn't even bother to mask his shell-shock as he gasps, the sound echoing in the eerily silent car. "No! But… he's with Alyssa, and –"

"Oh, sure, she's all smitten with him, but the guy is about as straight as a Foot-By-The-Foot, which we all know are coiled, have wavy patterns on them, and are fruity as fuck," Dave growls, and he pounds the steering wheel again when it's finally his turn to go. "Finally! Get a move on, granny, the light is _green!_"

"Hold the phone," Kurt retorts, "How do you know that? I mean, outside of the kissing thing. He seemed totally fine with Alyssa, and –"

"She's a _cover-up,_ idiot! She's like all the girls I tried to be with in high school and failed to like, except I hardly dated them for more than a week so not to hurt them when I dumped them. But this guy Tyler? He's a damn demon, 'cause he's playing this poor girl's heartstrings, using her as a shield for, like, a _year _now, while he goes around and finds a guy to like and pursues him behind her back! Why didn't I see this coming the day I met him? Why didn't I realize then that he was lying when he said he wasn't gay, and why didn't I notice how he seemed to check out every guy in the locker room? God, I'm such a _retard!_ I only see what I want to see because I'm still in denial about some stuff myself! _Shit-fucking-dammit!"_ he curses in a screech as he speeds up the car unconsciously.

"D-Dave, calm down, you'll get us arrested –" Kurt sputters, and leans over to touch his roommate's arm.

The jock calms down enough to ease off the gas pedal. He leans back and blows air out of his mouth. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Kurt. It's just… I hate players like that. And I hate that he kissed me when I only want you to kiss me, and, a-and – and now I know how you felt when I forced myself on you back then," Dave mutters, and he sighs gruffly as he attempts to lessen his knuckle-whitening grip on the wheel. "I hate him, Kurt. I hate Tyler so fucking much. I want you to tell Alyssa, okay? Be gentle, and tell her, and hopefully she believes you and ditches his ass. It'll hurt her, but if you do it, I think she'll take it just fine in time." He shakes his head as he makes a right turn, but says nothing else.

Kurt inhales sharply. This is a lot to take in. He nods progressively. "Yeah… yeah. I think so, too. She needs to know." Tears sting his eyes. "She'll be crushed. She really thinks she loves him, Dave. And she's so sweet aside from some of her guy-ish mannerisms. And I hate to have to tell her this when I only met her tonight."

"Yeah, well, trust me on this, Kurt: this isn't something we can sweep under the rug and keep a secret, not when it'll hurt her so much more later on. Look, I was really grateful to you back then when you didn't out me in front of our dads in Coach Sylvester's office when she was principal for a while. But Tyler Jurcen? He needs to go down. I need to bash that guy's skull into the ground; figuratively," he adds, trying to sound convincing, but he isn't sure he's succeeding because he wouldn't mind doing the act literally. That guy… he stole a kiss that should belong to Kurt. And he did it behind the back of a friend of Kurt's. And it's all so wrong when it goes against anything involving Dave's boy.

Kurt nods numbly, and when they finally pull into the parking lot of the dorm after a lengthy silence, the first thing Kurt does is catch up to Dave's long strides and take the keys from his sweating, tight-fisted hands.

"I got this," Kurt murmurs, and Dave nods stiffly as he walks up to their room with Kurt in the lead. He watches at the smaller teen unlocks the door and takes Dave by the hand inside the room. "Sit down."

Dave does so, his hands gripping is knees as he sits with a rigid back on the edge of his bed. Kurt kneels in front of his boyfriend and lays his hands over the tanner male's.

"You need to calm down, David," he instructs softly. "Know what always calms me down? 'When The Stars Go Blue,' the version with Bono from U2 and The Corrs."

"I know that song," Dave mutters. "My mom loves that song."

"Do you know the lyrics?"

Dave nods. "Some. I know Bono's parts."

"Good, good," Kurt says, nodding slowly. He locks his gaze with his boyfriend's and doesn't let it go. "Then start. I'll join in with Andrea's parts."

With a taunt voice wavering slightly from unadulterated anger boiling in his gut, Dave begins, "_Dancing when the stars go blue…"_

"_Dancing where the evening fell,"_ Kurt chimes in, his voice soft and lovely, nearly like a female's, but still hinting with something that reminds Dave clearly that Kurt is an eighteen-year-old young man.

"_Dancing in your wooden shoes…"_ Dave continues, trying to smooth out his voice.

"_In a wedding gown,"_ Kurt adds, trying to smile.

"_Dancing out on Seventh Street, dancing through the underground,"_ Dave croons, and he's starting to relax, his fingers unclenching beneath Kurt's cool hands.

"_Dancing little marionette…"_

And they both sing, "_Are you happy now? …Where do you go, when you're lonely? Where do you go when you're blue? Where do you go when you're lonely… I'll follow you…"_

Dave breaks away from the harmony, his eyes closing and his chin lifting to sing, "_When they stars go blue…"_

"_Bluuuuue,"_ Kurt adds, and as Dave repeats the line again, so does Kurt.

Then, "_Laughing with your pretty mouth,"_ Dave sings, and casts his eyes downward to Kurt's lips, one of his hands slipping out from under Kurt's hand to brush a fingertip to those palely pink, petal-soft lips.

Kurt falters for a couple beats before snapping out of his daze to sing, "_Laughing with your broken eyes."_

"_Laughing with your lover's tongue," _Dave sings with a hushed tone, utterly calm now, as he leans in slightly.

And they both sing with nearly touching noses, "_In a lullaby… Where do you go, when you're lonely? Where do you go when you're blue? Where do you go when you're lonely… I'll follow you…"_

And the back-and-forth of Dave crooning, 'When the stars go blue,' and Kurt adding a soft, 'Bluuuue,' at the end of the phrase is finished, they are left panting lightly from the longer notes, and staring into each other's eyes.

Kurt ventures, "Are you all right now, Dave?"

Slowly, Dave nods his head. "I think so. Thank you," he remarks quietly. He closes his eyes, a small frown connecting his groomed eyebrows. "But damn it all if I don't still feel his disgusting hands on my shirt and his lips on mine. His mouth was too hot, and his lips too thin, and he felt so much stronger than he should have."

When Dave opens his eyes again, Kurt is right there, half a breath away. "Then let me help you forget it," he murmurs, and then his mouth is teasing Dave's mouth, all tongue and lip and everything right that Dave wants, and what he knows to be how a kiss should feel.

As they part, Dave asks with a weak tone, fearful of Kurt's answer, "Did you need someone to erase my first kiss to you?"

Kurt pulls away and looks anxious. "I… I wanted someone to, yes. I wanted Blaine to take it away, make me forget how brutally you kissed me. But… but as I thought about it more and more, I knew I couldn't ask it of him no matter how much I liked him at the time, and I realized that the pressure I felt on my lips from you – it was full of crushing need and desire, but there was also an underlying tone of, 'please understand me.' And because of that, I decided that it was okay that my first kiss was that way, even if I didn't like that it was from someone I hated instead of someone I loved, because I'm a sucker for drama and there was plenty of it in that kiss." He smiles oddly. "I'm horribly strange, I know."

Dave chuckles softly. "Yes, you are," he says as he brings up a hand to slide into Kurt's hair, his thumb stroking the porcelain boy's jaw near his ear, "But it makes sense in that Kurt-logic way."

Without warning, Dave removes his hand just as Kurt is about to lean in for another kiss. He stands and starts shrugging off his coat, but thinks better of it and slides it back up his arms.

"Kurt, I left some of my hockey gear in your car," he informs his roommate. He glances over his shoulder. "Can I go get it?"

"I think you should wait until tomorrow. You need to get your rest after something so emotionally draining, and I need to call poor Alyssa." Kurt reprimands as though he were Dave's mother. "So why don't you change into your PJs and leave me to my necessary phone call?"

"Fair enough, I guess," Dave heaves a sigh of consent, although he isn't too keen about it. "We locked your car, though, right? So no one will jack my stuff?"

"No one will steal anything, have no fear," Kurt assures as he whips out his cell phone. "I locked it."

"Good," Dave mutters under his breath as he starts stripping, but before he removes his pants he moves to the door and locks the deadbolt. Then, swiftly, he returns to changing into his nightclothes. He listens to Kurt pace the aisle between their twin beds, huffing here and there as he waits for each ring. When Alyssa picks up, Dave can hear the highest pitches of her voice leaking out from the receiver.

Shrugging, Dave leaves them to their conversation as he picks up the containers from Applebee's, searching for his food. He accidentally opens the oriental orange chicken bowl, a dish made of rice and orange chicken and vegetables, first; Kurt's, obviously. He then opens the other, his beef stroganoff, a dish composed of beef strips, sliced mushrooms and sautéed onions in a mushroom-and-sour-cream sauce over egg noodles. He licks his lips, salivating at the very smell of it, before locating a fork and digging in straight from the foam box, the food still plenty warm.

"Alyssa? Hi, it's Kurt. …Yeah, we did rush out on you, I'm sorry about that. Are you still at Applebee's? Oh, of course you are. Um, will you be done soon? …Yes? Okay. When you are, call me back, okay? It's important. No, Alyssa, I can't tell you if Tyler's around. Uh, yes, it involves him as well. Actually, he's the cause for this conversation. What? No, he can't know! Look, Alyssa, it's something I need to speak solely to you about, all right? – Heh, yes, you're my sole confidant on all things juicy and gossip-y. But this one isn't very funny, unfortunately. Uh-huh. Yeah, yeah, I know. Call me back soon, all right? All right. Yeah, bye."

And soon the short convo is through, and Kurt is reaching for his own dinner, his stomach putting up quite the fight to have the meal in its clutches. Kurt plops down beside Dave on the floor, opting to rest his back on the headboard of Dave's bed like Dave is doing. The jock hands him a fork, and for a few minutes, they eat in the dead quiet.

Then, "Alyssa seems tired. Apparently, Tyler came back from the bathroom, she asked what happened and if everything was fine, and he told her to, 'shut up and eat.' And, naturally, he's never snapped at her before since he's always played it off like Joe Cool, so now she's as clueless and German transfer student in Brazil, the poor girl." The soprano sighs and shoves a chunk of chicken sprinkled with rice and an almond sliver into his mouth.

"I feel like we're ruining someone's life," Dave grumbles angrily as he chews on a piece of beef.

Kurt nods his head, agreeing without speaking as he continues to eat. After swallowing, he poses gently, "At least we're putting an end to that douchebag's treachery and saving Alyssa at least a tiny bit of future misery." He chuckles sardonically. "Who knows? Maybe she'll freak out in a good way, getting all worked up over the fact that the boyfriend she loves so much is just like something else she loves."

"I'm not following. Does this have something to do with what she was giggling to you about at the bar?"

Kurt coughs on a grain of rice going down the wrong pipe. He says with watery eyes and a hand to his sternum, "Y-yeah, actually," he says, a cough or two still bubbling up. "She loves gays."

"_What?" _Dave says, disbelieving.

Kurt laughs around another cough. "Yes. Isn't it funny? She's obsessed with homosexuals, but she always thought that Tyler disapproved of them, so she never let her secret out that she reads those gay Japanese comic books and whatnot." He smiles. "I swear, she's my new best girlfriend just because she accepts our kind."

Dave chortles darkly. "Okay, the irony of her boyfriend's sexual orientation compared to how he plays himself off as to her and others is so fuckin' pathetic and tragic that it makes me want to stab rusty nails into my ears. Or, better yet, stab rusty nails in Tyler Jurcen's eyes."

Kurt blinks, lowering his fork with food on it. He stares at Karofsky. "Like I said: sometimes I really don't approve of your inappropriate, morbid humor, Dave."

The hockey jock simply laughs at this, his hand covering his mouth as he tries to chew. Swallowing, he mutters a brief apology before continuing noshing on his supper.

They continue on like that for a while, and when Kurt is nearly finished eating, his cell rings. He checks it, his eyes going wide. "It's Alyssa." He looks unprepared, but answers it anyhow. "Hey, Alyssa," he says shakily, standing from his spot on the floor to dump his box in their garbage and toss his fork into the small sink in the room. "No, it's fine. I'm just sorry I interrupted your dinner. Where are you? …At home, you say? Oh, perfect. Well, see, honey, there's something huge I need to tell you. I mean, mega-super-ultra huge. And I'm warning you now, it might hurt you. …You'll be okay? Are you sure? …You are. Oh. Well, then here goes…"

And Dave finishes off his dinner as he listens to the back-and-forth banter before, finally, Kurt gracefully, considerately explains the exchange between Dave and Tyler in the bathroom – leaving out that Dave beat the guy up, since Dave accidentally forgot to mention it, but it doesn't matter, not necessarily – and there's a small scream on the other end of the line, Kurt pulling the phone away for a moment and Dave quirking an eyebrow at the noise.

Yet Alyssa must be all right, because Dave doesn't hear any sobbing, although Alyssa suddenly loses all of the rises in her voice, and now Dave can't hear anything but the low falls of her tone, a low murmur leaking from Kurt's cellular device.

When the conversation is complete, Kurt is exhaling, gradually sinking onto his own mattress. He shuts his eyes and tilts his head up toward the blank ceiling. "Jeez, what an ordeal."

"Is Alyssa holding up?" Dave dares to ask as Kurt's head droops and his eyes open part of the way.

Unenthusiastically, the gleek nods. His gaze lands on Dave's face. "She didn't cry, which is a good sign. She was shocked, and then hurt, and then angry, and finally, accepting. She's going to dump Tyler tonight, saying something about how she never wants to see his face again, because he might be gay but that doesn't excuse how much of a jerk he's been." He smiles slightly. "She's a strong one, Dave. Tyler was stupid to mess with her. I wouldn't be surprised if she rips into him physically."

Dave laughs some. "Yup, she sure seemed like the type." Following a pause, Dave wonders aloud, "Are the two of you going to be, like, the best of friends now or something?"

Kurt shrugs. "Perhaps. She's interesting, and she'll need somebody to help her get over Tyler, since she really did like him. And I wouldn't mind being there for her."

"Yeah, I can see that," Dave shrugs. He yawns out of nowhere. "Hmm. Think I'm gonna go to bed."

"Without brushing your teeth?" Kurt questions.

The athlete waves this aside. "Who cares about dental hygiene? I sure don't; well, not tonight, anyhow. G'night, Kurt," Dave yawns again, and climbs into his bed. He's snoring gently within minutes.

Kurt, on the other hand, is too troubled to go to sleep quite yet. Sighing, he searches for his stuffed rabbit and holds it up to his chest. "Hiya, Bunny-Hops," he whispers as he shuts off the lamp beside him, the only light source left in the room. He curls up on his bed and waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he speaks again to the worn animal's face. "Things are so messed up. I just hope that Alyssa doesn't spill about Tyler, because as much of a jerk as he is, it would suck if he got outed to the hockey team, because as much as I hate to say this… he can play when he needs to, and I would hate it if he got kicked off the team and made them lose.

"And Dave… I worry that Alyssa with figure out he and I are together and someone else spills and soon he's outed, too, and we both know how much more taboo a manly guy like Dave is if he's found out to be a gay on a sports team. Everyone only tolerated me on the football team because I was an excellent kicker, if I do say so myself. But Dave? As amazing of a hockey player as he is, I don't know if they'd keep him on the team after a secret like that coming into the woodwork."

Bunny-Hops's head tilts to one side as Kurt holds it with lightly shaking fingers. And it seems like a movement of agreement and understanding, so Kurt yawns and allows himself to finally rest his head onto his pillow.


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sorry for the amount of Alyssa in this chapter, since I know she's an OC and can be annoying to some of you. But it's necessary for Kurt to go through this, since I actually have a couple ideas in mind after thinking things through a hair more. So here you go, another chapter, and more should be out within a few days, since I have so much free time over this winter break. XD**

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**Chapter 14.**

When Dave returns to practice, Tyler is missing. He's about to mutter a question as to why to a player near him when the coach suddenly rounds the corner and announces it himself: Tyler Jurcen quit the team, so all of the remaining players need to pick up the slack, and perhaps one or them will have to fill the strawberry blond's shoes by no longer being a benchwarmer.

Dave wouldn't admit it if someone called him out on it, but he's damn relieved. He was afraid Tyler would retaliate during hockey, or do something else of the sort, like go after Kurt; but then again, Tyler doesn't know about Dave's sexual orientation, and that's just as well, because he probably would have gone after Dave with more enthusiasm if he had known.

Karofsky shudders, not liking his thoughts. He chooses to think of Kurt instead, a part of him wishing that the boy were hear to cheer him on again, even if it's only practice. Seeing Kurt in the stands over the weekend, his face lit up with excitement and his mouth shouting encouraging sounds and words… it was the best feeling for Dave. He can't aptly describe it, but if he had to try, he might say it felt like having a belly full of ice cream: calming, contenting, sweet. Everything Dave could have dreamed his hockey playing experience to be outside of the usual aggression and skill mastering; it was like the movies, the girl (or in this case, guy) of his dreams rooting for him, watching him play, and giving him a kiss afterward when he won. Things of that nature.

So with this much more pleasant train of thought in mind, Dave gets on his gear and heads out of the locker room rearing and ready to go.

But the coach stops him for a second. "Karofsky," the coach addresses, "I saw how you play when you're actually in a game, and I'm more than impressed. But it made me wonder: what else can you do?"

"Coach?" Dave questions, his brows coming together.

The man grins. "No, that's my job. But I get what your tone is saying: 'why is he asking me that?' Well, losing a player got me thinking: no one is tied down to one position all the time. Sometimes things need to be shaken up. So I was wondering, Karofsky: would you like to be goalie during practice today? Or maybe a blocker instead? You're already so good with offense, but I wondered if you have other talents hidden inside of you."

Dave's never tried. In soccer during gym class for school, he usually played goalie because he was too lazy to do all that running otherwise, and admittedly, he was pretty talented at keeping those soccer balls out of the net. But to apply that to a small black puck in hockey with all of that gear on? He isn't sure. But blocking he can do; it's what he mainly did in football anyhow.

So, with a curt nod, Dave agrees to it. "I can try, Coach," he says in conformation.

The coach slaps him on the shoulder. "Good, good. Go get on the extra goalie gear and grab the stick. I'll see you out on the ice, big guy." And then the man is off to talk to another college student, and Dave's left grinning a little to himself, because this is actually kind of _awesome._

**XXX  
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When Kurt's cell phone rings, he isn't sure who would be calling him or why. There's always so many possibilities; Mercedes, Tina, Rachel, Finn, Blaine, Burt, Carole, Dave, Alyssa, and once, even Puck, and a couple times, Quinn. Kurt isn't sure who it's going to be, so he simply slips his phone out of his pocket and glances at the caller ID.

It's Carole.

Smiling, Kurt answers the phone. "Hullo, Mommy-Dearest," he teases, because while no one can ever fully replace his birth mother, Carole is a great surrogate.

"Hi sweetie!" the woman chimes in happily. "I was wondering: are you ever going to let Burt and I meet your new boyfriend? I'm just dying to see what you mean by your bully changing so drastically! Although I'm sure like some bullies I knew growing up, he's always had a sweet side to him, and just needed the right person to come along and pry it out of him," she says playfully. "And you must've been just the right man for the job, huh?"

"That's one way to put it," Kurt laughs. He glances at their shared calendar in the room, trying to deduce a common free weekend not clouded with hockey games or anything else. "Um… it looks like we can come see you guys the weekend before Thanksgiving, since he and I have separate families to go home to on the holiday itself," Kurt says as he scans the weeks of November.

"Sounds perfectly agreeable," Carole smiles on the other end of the line. "We'll see you then, Kurt. Oh, and I've been meaning to ask: how did that costume party on Halloween go?"

"Splendidly," Kurt grins. "I dressed up as Hannah Montana, with a twist: I used my makeup skills to make it appear as though she got hit by our own tour bus. It was _hysterical_."

"It would have been; that poor girl is so easy to poke fun at," Carole laughs. "But that means you cross-dressed?"

Kurt shrugs, smoothing his hand with his free hand. "Yes, but tons of guys were cross-dressing, hetero ones included. I didn't feel out-of-place at all."

"Well, that's good," Carole smiles again. "Anyway, hun, I just wanted to check in on you. I'll see you in about in a couple weeks, okay? And don't be a stranger! Call or write some more! I love hearing from you, and so does your father. He's been busy in the shop lately, though; seems like everybody has troubles this year that only he can fix," she relays with a small sigh. "Bye now, Kurt."

"Bye-bye, Carole," Kurt says warmly in response, and then he ends the call with a simply tap on the screen of his iPhone.

Sometime during his brief call, someone texted him. Kurt checks the text and finds that it originates from Alyssa's number. _I tried calling, but the line was busy. When you're done, can we meet somewhere? I want to talk._

Kurt text backs a brief 'okay' before suggesting a place on-campus. Alyssa texts back, adding a smiley face at the end, saying that the location is fine and she'll be there in fifteen minutes if Kurt can do the same. He sends his compliance, and with a quick grab of his coat, he heads out the door, keys in his pocket.

**XXX**

"Kurt!" Alyssa blubbers, and she's crying, her eyes red and puffy, and even though she hasn't known him very long, she immediately wraps her arms around his shoulders.

The soprano stiffens on contact, but doesn't decline the embrace. Instead, he gently pats her awkwardly on the back, trying to console her. "Alyssa, what's wrong?"

She pulls away and shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I'm really touchy-feely, and I know it must be weird for you, and I'm so sorry that I'm so weird, and –"

"Alyssa! It's okay, girl, really. Calm down," Kurt says, trying to send her a weak smile. He pats her shoulder comfortingly. "Now tell me what has you so upset."

The blonde takes in a slow breath and releases it even slower. "Okay. Sorry. You're right," she says, apologizing yet again, making Kurt mentally roll his eyes.

Her brown eyes peer up into his blue ones, and she looks so frail, despite her strong, clenched jaw and fisted hands. She then explains:

"I did it. I called Tyler out on his actions, and he didn't deny it. He told me the truth, actually. He said that he met your roommate on the rink and liked him right away, and that he's always been gay but has always lied and covered it up to everybody except his cousin or something, and he tried to make me feel bad for him, and use my love for him against me! I wanted to scream, Kurt. It cut me deep. I thought he was special. I mean," she chokes, "I was saving myself for him, you know? I-I thought he loved me." She shakes her head, and Kurt brings her in for another hug, because he can tell that she needs it. She sobs into his shirt, "I didn't know it'd be this hard, Kurt! I tried to make myself feel better by tackling him and socking him one in the face, but it didn't, because he _let _me. He didn't fight back! Why didn't he push me away? Do you think he knows that he did wrong? Do you think Tyler's _sorry?"_ Alyssa pleads, and Kurt has no answer as she leans her head against his shoulder. She's a lot shorter than him; she's maybe five-foot-two, or five-foot-one. She's tiny. She goes on one last time, "But I dumped him. He promised not to talk to me again, since I asked him not to. He's out of my life forever, and I'm glad I don't have to deal with something like that anymore." She whispers, "But I'm not mad at him for being gay. You know I love gays. But I'm so, _so_ mad at him for thinking he could use me, and lie to me, and not receive any consequences. _That's_ why I hate Tyler now. _That's _why I'm going to ignore his existence for the rest of my life." She sighs, finally letting go of Kurt and drying her eyes. "I don't mean to dump on you like this, Kurt. God, we only just met, for crying out loud. But… I don't have anybody else. All of my other friends live in Madison, Wisconsin; my hometown. Besides my brother and the occasional online or phone conversation, I can't talk to anyone."

Her monologue finished, Kurt finally offers some words of advice. He tells her with a small smile, "You're not dumping on me, Alyssa. I understand more than you realize. I can see why you thought you loved Tyler so much: he was the only other person to show interest in you, to hang out with you, and keep you from being lonely. But you don't need a boyfriend, Alyssa; you're a strong girl who just needs a friend. And if you'll go shopping with me at the mall some time soon, I'll buy you a giant pretzel and a beverage of your choice and I'll be that friend. I left all of my own friends in Lima, which is hours away from here, so I feel your pain."

Alyssa nods solemnly. "Wow. Thanks, Kurt. You're the best, really; you're such a nice guy."

"I try," Kurt grins.

Giggling a little, Alyssa sniffles away the last of her tears and wipes her eyes with her shirtsleeve. "Hey," she says, "Can that pretzel have cheese on it? And be served later this week after your last class? All my classes end by about four each day, so…"

"My last class is around six or seven, I believe, for the later days of the week. The mall is open late on weekends, though. So shall we go out this Friday?" Kurt suggests, and he likes that Alyssa's demeanor perks right up and her lips form a smile.

"Yes, let's! I really, really can't thank you enough, Kurt. And could you thank Dave for me, too? Because without meaning to, the guy helped bring out Tyler's true colors and indirectly helped me get rid of the bastard before things got ugly later on." And she winks, her sense of humor a little dry, but Kurt laughs minutely anyhow.

"Sure, I'll send Dave your regards." Kurt agrees warmly.

Alyssa eyes him a little. "Kurt," she remarks teasingly, "Do you have a crush on Dave? The way you always say his name… I dunno, it sounds like you dig him." And she giggles at the thought, and it bursts into wild laughter when she notices Kurt's face blossom with magenta. "Ohmigod, you _do_ like him! Your face says it all! Aww, that's just so _cuuuuute_~! But," she adds disdainfully, her lips putting slightly, "He's straight, isn't he? You poor baby."

Kurt shakes his head, not sure what to say. Alyssa seems like she can keep a secret, but won't Dave feel like Kurt betrayed his trust if he tells Alyssa the truth?

She doesn't seem particularly concerned, however. "Ah, well. You win some, you lose some. But you two would make a cute couple; he's all macho and you're all effeminate-but-still-boyish, just like all my yaoi manga. It's adorable," she concludes, and already she seems to have forgotten all about her episodic breakdown moments ago. This is one chick you can knock down who will get right back up. Kurt respects this about her, because it reminds him of himself.

"Your wacky imagination astounds me," Kurt says sarcastically, and Alyssa simply laughs again.

"Sorry! I see gayness in everything. I wish that every set of male roommates secretly liked each other as more than friends, but of course I know this is impossible. But I can't help myself; I need my daily dose of homosexuality to keep me going." And she grins.

"Alyssa… you're sort of creepy, do you know that?" Kurt remarks with a raise of an eyebrow.

The blonde giggles with a hand to her mouth before yanking down her baseball t-shirt, one of the Chicago teams, Kurt thinks. "I know I am. All my friends back home always knew I was the weirdest one, but we were all pretty weird. Outcasts, I suppose. But the popular kids didn't bully us, thank God." She winces. "Oops! Crap, I forgot… you said you were bullied, didn't you? By Dave and stuff? I'm sorry!"

Kurt chuckles idly. "Don't worry about it, Alyssa. Seriously, you need to stop reacting so much."

"I do that a lot," she admits. "I just like expressing emotion. It's fun, and helps me not bottle it up all the time like I used to in high school. Did you know that I used to be thirty pounds heavier?" She adds, looking self-conscious of herself. "But my mom helped me get into shape, for the most part, before college began. She wanted me to meet boys I might actually like." Alyssa shrugs. "I guess it worked out, because I met you, right? – Except the liking isn't romantic this time, it's just the friend-like, and I think you're right, that's the kind I need most right now." She giggles. "Is it horrible that I'm ecstatic that you're, like, my first real gay guy friend? Does that make me a… a fag-hag? B-because I don't want it to! I don't like you only because I found out you were gay. You're just… really funny and sweet and stylish and happen to like some of the same things I do." And she whispers the f-word, seeming not to like the term very much, but not knowing how else to describe herself. She looks worried, too, as if afraid of being convicted of a crime.

Kurt shakes his head, grinning through and through. He slaps her gently on the arm. "No, Alyssa, it's not horrible that you feel that way, and it doesn't make you a fag-hag. It just shows that you're truly accepting and loving towards people in spite of their sexualities or any other flaws they might have." He smiles softer. "And you're really talkative, which shows your enthusiasm for what you believe in."

Alyssa seems to get embarrassed, her head tilting downward and her ears burning red from where Kurt can see them in front of her headband that matches her baseball shirt. "You really think so?" she murmurs, looking up and smiling, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth nervously.

Kurt winks. "I do. You're definitely something else, Alyssa, but I don't mind; the friends I left behind were the same way, and I wouldn't trade them for the world."

"Yay!" Alyssa claps, giggling to herself. She grabs Kurt's hands and affirms, "I'm so happy! You totally cheered my right back up after my violent break-up, Kurt. And to make it up to you, I'm not letting you pay for a single thing on Friday. Despite the cheap clothing I dress in, I'm actually pretty loaded; I have a decent job and save it all, choosing to live mainly on my student loans. So let me get you some stuff, okay? And in return, you can let me go into my two favorite stores, since I'm sure they are two you'd never step foot in unless forced."

"Stores such as…?" Kurt remarks with a quirked eyebrow.

Alyssa laughs uneasily. "Heh, heh… um, Hot Topic and Sports Galore. I have a soft spot for all the nerdy anime stuff at Hot Topic, and then you know me and sports," she says as she glances down as herself. "I hardly play any myself, but boy, do I love to watch and collect the shirts and caps of my favorite teams. And then I like getting some punk stuff for the other side of me." And she winks.

And Kurt can't help but like this girl, even if she's a tad crazy and annoying, but that's just like Rachel Berry, and Kurt's her friend too, isn't he? So he smiles and nods, and then they link elbows and decide to go get a coffee, but Kurt makes sure to steer clear of the Starbucks-that-shall-not-be-visited, because he really, really doesn't want to see Jason or Blaine there; it's just too… _awkweird_, a phrase he picked up from Mercedes.


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: This is a fun, shorter chapter that somewhat follows the flashbacky pattern of chapter 5 (posted as the sixth chapter due to the prologuey first chapter). I hope you enjoy this one to take a break from the drama and get back to the humor that is the other genre of this fic. ;D**

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**Chapter 15.**

Kurt face-palms whereas Dave emits a groan.

"Remind me how we got into this mess, again?" Kurt whines mordantly, and Dave merely frowns, choosing not to respond. Kurt shifts uncomfortably. "Could you at least move your arm? Your elbow is poking into my ribs."

"Oh. Sorry," Dave grumbles, and attempts to squeeze his arm out of its uncomfortable position to something more suitable. Vaguely, the jock remarks, "Do you think they forgot about us?"

"Probably." The singer sighs heavily. "We need to figure a way out of this."

"Yeah. Because while I like seclusion and all – it helps me keep you to myself – this… is not what I had in mind when I initiated this," the taller of the two states with an aggravated lick to his lips. There's a short pause, and then: "Seriously, if they don't come back for us soon I'm going to hit something."

"There's no room to hit something! You're wind up hitting _me_ instead!" Kurt growls, and he stomps his foot crossly.

"Ouch! Yeah, you have a point there," Dave mutters, "As you accidentally demonstrated right now."

"I'd apologize, David, but I'm too hot and irritated to care, because even your foot's pain is no match for my level of nuisance that is increasing with every waking moment we're trapped in here," the smaller college boy hisses darkly, and Dave's never seen him this annoyed before, and he's suddenly so glad that he's not in the line of fire, even if he's in the immediate vicinity.

_It all started three hours ago…_

"Do you think your parents will be okay with me? I mean, like most people, I kind of left a bad impression on your dad…" Dave frets in the angry-sounding way he does as he crosses his arms over his chest and watches Kurt speed down the highway toward Lima, Ohio. "I don't even know how you talked me into going on this damn trip in the first place."

"Oh, quit pouting, Karofsky; it's not becoming. And if you remember correctly, I didn't talk you into anything; I told you we were going and you didn't argue because you didn't want to piss me off because I oh-so-cleverly sprang the news of this trip on you after we pushed our twin beds together and we about to get down and dirty," Kurt clarifies with evident smirking added to his tone because he's quite proud of his brilliance.

"Oh yeah… I remember now," Dave says as the memory dawns on him. He instantly gets angry with himself for being conned like that. "Dammit, Hummel! You suck!"

"And swallow~," Kurt coos, one of his hands leaving the wheel to playfully tickle his lover's inner thigh over his jeans, his nails scratching gently. Dave squirms in his seat, hollering something incoherent before smacking Kurt's hand away while the paler boy cackles deviously to himself.

"You're the goddamn devil, Kurt," Dave affectionately mutters as he forces himself to stare out the window. "Now I remember, too, why we work so well sometimes: you're a bitch, I'm a bastard, and together, we have equilibrium." His stomach suddenly makes a noise. "Um… where are my Slim Jims? I'm hungry."

"By your feet, in the gas station bag," Kurt replies easily. "Could you hand me my Haribo gummy bears, too? I want to gnaw on a few fruity animals."

"So they finally made gay candy?" Dave quips with a snort of laughter as he makes a pun on the term 'fruity.' He hands over the open, golden bag of chewy candies and Kurt gladly takes them, muttering a sarcastic, 'ha ha, very funny,' under his breath.

The rest of the ride is without consequence, spent listening to the Wicked soundtrack on repeat, Kurt singing along with every word. Without consequence, that is, until they arrive at Kurt's house.

"Fuck-fuck-fuckity-fuuuuck! I really can't do this, Kurt. I can't fucking _do_ this. Your dad hates me, and God knows if Hudson is somehow there he'll beat the shit out of me, and you wouldn't let me fight back if that happened because you think so damn highly of the guy, and – _fuck,_ I can't get damn Defying Gravity out of my head because of you! This is fucking retarded, and I –"

"Damn it, David! Shut up!" Kurt snaps, reaching over and striking Dave across the face. "Get your act together! You barking swear words at me isn't going to make your irrational fears melt away, only escalate!"

Scowling, Dave scrubs his scalp with his hands, applying a bit too much pressure and nearly giving himself a headache. "Yeah. Okay. You're totally right. 'M sorry." Exhaling, he starts nodding repeatedly. "I just… I've never done this before. Faced other people besides you and my dad about being g-gay," he says, stumbling over the word, "And… and I've always cared too much about what others think of me. I mean, _obviously _I always have," he snorts, "Considering how I behaved pretty much throughout the entirety of high school."

"I know, Dave," Kurt murmurs, stroking Dave's arm comfortingly. "But that's why _I'm_ here, remember? And besides, you seem to fail to recall the fact that they just want to see who I hold in such high regard these days. It's nothing personal, it's just… a way of them keeping up with what and who is in my life." He smiles. "So chill out, Babycakes."

"…Don't ever call me that again, and I'll be fine," Dave jokes, but partially means it.

Rolling his eyes, Kurt gets out of the car and insists that Dave doesn't sit out here in the driveway the entire weekend. With a reluctant groan, Dave exits the vehicle, slamming the car door shut. He shoves his hands into his coat pocket and takes heavy footfalls behind Kurt's lightly stepping form.

Kurt doesn't even knock on the front door, even though he technically doesn't live here anymore. He calls out into the household, "Dad? Carole? Guess who's home!"

"Kurtie!" comes a woman's voice, and before Dave can even figure out which direction in the house the sound came from, a short-haired woman comes out of nowhere and brings Kurt into a tight hug.

Laughing, Kurt hugs her in return. "Carole, it's been months!"

"Ooh, I've missed you, sweetie," Carole says, pulling out of the embrace to grip Kurt's face in her hands, studying him. "And look! You seem older already."

Burt enters the room at this moment, wiping his oily hands on a rag before tosses it over his shoulder. "Son, come give your old man a hug," he remarks, and Dave doesn't miss how his green eyes flicker over to where Dave stands as Kurt walks into his father's arms, clearly avoiding the rag covered in transmission fluid.

"Fixing cars even in the early winter, Dad?" Kurt jokes as he steps out of the hug with a clap from Burt's hand on his back.

"I have to; it's when some people need it most, you know, to help them get through all the snow and ice coming their way," Burt remarks as Carole steps up to his side and beams at Kurt. But as Burt's eyes land completely on Dave standing in the closed doorway, Burt finally acknowledges the tall college boy's presence with a brief nod. "I remember you."

The hockey player clears his throat. "Y-yeah, I'd expect you would. Um… hi."

Burt steps forward, breaking away from his wife and child. "You know… when Kurt first told me that his former bully was rooming with him, I was prepared to storm down to Cincinnati myself and pummel you into the ground to keep you from messing with my son." And there's a dark undertone there that makes Dave's gut wash with chilling fear. "But…" Burt relents, "You can't be all that bad anymore, since all I ever hear about you these days is how fucking fantastic you are." He sighs, stepping closer and holding out his hand. "So if continue to treat my boy right, I won't have to break out any moves on you, okay? We can put the past behind us, and you can get off scott-free for your wrongs if you swear on the blood of Christ that you won't lay a hand on Kurt that is anything short of violent. You hear me?"

Dave shakes on it, his grip firm, but his mouth dry. "I hear you, Mr. Hummel, sir. I know what I did before was wrong, and I haven't hurt him since, verbally or otherwise. And I won't hurt him in the future, either. I care about him too much," he adds, sending a quick glance over Burt's shoulder at the man in question before returning his sincere gaze to the balding older man.

Burt grins, letting go of Karofsky's hand. "Good, I'm glad. And with that law set firmly in place, I think it's safe to say that you and I will get along swimmingly, since you seem like a man of sports and mechanics."

Dave offers a shaky grin. "For the most part I am, yeah. Although less-so on the mechanics; I only know the basic there. But sports? Now you're talking my language."

"Great!" Burt says enthusiastically, clapping Dave on the shoulder in a hearty gesture. "Then let me finish up this vehicle for a client and then we can all sit down and watch a game. What're your fortes, David?"

"Um," Dave stutters, "Hockey and football."

And Burt seems genuinely pleased with this response.

_Later, after dinner…_

"Oh, Kurt? Could you put this pan away in the pantry? And be careful with the lock; the door creaks closed most of the time, as you know, but now that darn lock sometimes falls shut from the outside. I've admittedly gotten stuck in there before. Poor Finn had to get me out while you were away at Dalton." Carole warns, a smile playing on her lipstick-covered lips.

"Okay," the soprano shrugs, and takes the glass dish that previously held cheesy baked potato slices and marches around the corner, into the hallway, where the pantry lies. He's stretching on his tip-toes and inclining his body to try and get the glass dish up as high as it needs to go stacked on top of the others it's size, but he's not quite tall enough to get down the small ones and place it beneath them.

Sighing harshly in frustration, Kurt calls Dave to his side as the taller boy exits the bathroom just down the hall.

"Dave! Come help me put this way," he demands.

The jock smirks and waltzes up to his boyfriend. "What's the matter, Shorty? Can't reach?"

"No," Kurt grunts, blowing more air out of his mouth. He offers the dish between them. "So you have to do it."

"First of all, don't be afraid to get closer to it instead of leaning over all the stuff on the shelves; the dust won't kill you," Dave replies with a roll of his eyes. He stands directly behind Kurt and takes the dish from his hands, pressing his chest to Kurt's back as he reaches up and puts the dish away.

However, once the task is complete, Dave doesn't bother to remove himself. He none-too-subtly brings his nose close to the nape of Kurt's neck and inhales, soaking in Kurt's scent before wrapping his fingers around Kurt's wrists and pinning the boy's front to the rack fill of drawers full of housing things. He kisses along the back of the slightly younger boy's neck, leaving wet, warm ones on his skin before placing dryer, softer ones over the boy's shirt on his shoulders and upper back.

Kurt hisses into the stiff wood of the shelves in front of him, "Dave, _don't._ What if my parents see you?"

"Then I'll close the door; I like being in _tight_ places with you," he grins, purposely letting slip an innuendo.

"B-but Dave –"

"Shh, I got it," Dave smirks as he pivots far enough and frees one hand long enough to close the pantry door on them and return to kissing Kurt's neck.

But Kurt is writing out of the larger boy's grasp. "Dammit, Dave! Why didn't you let me finish? I was going to say that you can't close the door because the lock is faulty and locks from the outside!" he hisses, and Dave freezes in place.

"Wait… so, you mean… we're trapped in here?"

"Yup, pretty much." Kurt retorts icily.

Sinking doubt creeps into Dave's belly. "Well… _shit."_

_Present time once again:_

"Heeeeelp! Dad! Carole! Get us out of heeeere! Ignore your stupid TV show or whatever and HELP US!" Kurt wails, shuffling around his boyfriend to bang on the pantry door. It really is locked, and they keep jiggling the doorknob anyhow, hoping they might be heard.

Finally, after what feels like a claustrophobic's nightmare version of forever (even though it's been a mere twenty minutes of entrapment in actuality), Carole throws open the door, her eyes as wide as a doe's as she blinks them at the two boys.

"How did you two wind up –?"

"Don't. Ask." The two growl in unison, and it only succeeds in making Carole laugh.

Shaking her head at their shenanigans, she informs them that she and Burt are about to watch Inception, and the two boys are welcome to join. After twenty minutes of yelling for a way out, their started make-out session completely forgotten, the two are eager for something different, and agree straight away.

The four sitting down on the couch in a long line, Kurt doesn't miss how Carole giggles and leans into Burt, murmuring, "Boys will be boys."


	17. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hey guys, long time no write! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this kooky chapter, because I have more stuff planned, and it's gonna be fun. **

**As a random-yet-related thing to bring up: What the deal with the rumors I keep hearing regarding the Super Bowl episode of Glee set to air the 6th of February? I read the Wiki page about it, but everything I see that's more fan-oriented is talking about another Kurt-and-Dave confrontation, and I'm nervous, almost as much as I was when all of the Furt theories and rumors were going around.  
Any thoughts? Please PM me (save your reviews for stuff about this story, LoL). ;D**

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**Chapter 16.**

By the end of the visit with Kurt's parents, Dave feels better about confronting his own. On their way back to college, the athlete is actually smiling.

"You know, maybe we should do another trip like this and go see my own parents," he remarks optimistically, which is a new thing for Dave. "I mean, after I tell my mom on the phone or in person at Thanksgiving or something. Because seeing how cool your parents were about us being together… it gives me hope, you know? That weird, fluttery, it-gets-better sort of hope."

"I'm so happy you feel that way, Dave," Kurt beams.

**XXX**

Days turn into weeks, and suddenly it's the second week of December, and Kurt is having a miniature-meltdown because he needs to come up with fabulous gifts for all of his high school pals and his new boyfriend and new friend, and he needs all of this to happen _fast. _He's been hanging out with Alyssa a lot, getting to know her, adapting to her quirky, bizarre traits, and figuring out her likes and dislikes. He thinks he knows what to get her, and he's debating whether or not to get Blaine anything, since the guy rarely texts anymore, all too preoccupied with spending his last moments with his sweet Jason before the guy transfers back to Ireland over the winter break.

It's all so overwhelming, and really, Kurt just wants Christmas to be over a done with, since he hardly believes in a higher power to start with and he definitely finds certain Christmas traditions to be utterly silly. Like mistletoe, which Dave seems to love cornering Kurt with by placing the damn plant in random places in their dormitory room, once going so far as to sprinkle it all over their joined twin bed (which they do make an effort to separate if they know someone is going to be seeing their room at a given point in time). It was a mess; romantic and nice-smelling, but so messy.

Sighing, Kurt flops down onto the bed, lying spread-eagle, his arms and legs splayed open. He stares up at the bland ceiling for a while, lost in thought. Dave enters the room, tossing down his hockey gear, and once he spots Kurt, he doesn't hesitate to step over to the bed, sit down, and pick up one of Kurt's socked feet.

"…Uh, Dave?"

"Yes?"

"…What, exactly, are you doing?"

"Giving you a massage. You look like you could use one. The holidays really stress you out, huh?" the jock remarks as he keeps his gaze locked on Kurt's foot in his hands as he works the muscles through the fabric.

Kurt groans. "They really do, Dave, and I hate it. I mean, I love the happy-fuzzy-warm feeling of Christmastime, but I detest all the 'searching for the right gift' and 'hoping they like it' and the 'rushing around the stores;' it's all so noisy and crowded and not at all like the shopping I'm used to: the kind that is done on off-days with great sales and all of the proceeds going to _me._"

Dave chuckles to himself as he switches to Kurt's other foot, acting like this ritual of theirs is wholly normal, when it in fact is the first time either of them have done this. Dave kind of likes it, though; it feels homey and casual, like how his parents usually behave.

And did Dave really just relate his and Kurt's relationship to the Karofsky couple? Freaking trippy…

Clearing his head, Dave listens as Kurt continues venting his holiday woes.

"So here I am, trying to prepare myself for the Christmas party me and all of the gleek are going to have in Lima over winter break from our colleges, doing all of the planning with Rachel over the phone, and it's frustrating because Finn isn't sure that he wants to go, and I'm sure you aren't either, but both of you have to and it's going to get awkward, I just _know _it. It'll be like an episode of Friends, except Rachel is crazier than Monica and you and I are like the gay versions of Joey and Chandler."

The jock is only half-listening, but as soon as the realization dawns on him that he's going to be attending a party in his hometown with all of the people he once harassed for being in the club they all bonded due to, it makes him feel just a little dizzy.

Dave topples sideways with a groan, his head nearly parallel to Kurt's. "Dammit, Kurt, why didn't you warn me about his sooner?"

Kurt's face shifts to glance at his roommate. "I tried to," Kurt reminds with a slightly offended sniff, "But you were too busy this past week when it got brought up and planned; remember? You've had hockey and your mom calling you every day to talk about you coming out to her on Thanksgiving."

"Oh. Right," Dave grumbles, and rolls onto his back to stare up at the ceiling like Kurt had been doing. It's been stressful for him, too. Paul Karofsky is extremely supportive, now, in that softly-firm-yet-caring way of his. Clara Karofsky, on the other hand, is taking her sweet time adjusting, but that suits Dave well enough, because at least she's _trying _through all of her wig-outs and bouts of being disgusted. She's coming around, and that's all Dave cares about, because she repeatedly says how she can't help but feel like she's always wondered in the pit of her stomach about her son since he never seemed to care about the girls he was with in the past.

Feeling like they both need a pick-me-up, Dave rolls onto his side and props himself up on one elbow as he skims the side of Kurt's face with his hand prior to kissing him square on the mouth.

Kurt hums his approval and has a hand raised to grip the hair at the nape of Dave's neck when he suddenly hears the door open and a chipper voice make half a word before squeaking like a startled mouse.

Dave jumps in retaliation of the sound, so alarmed that he rolls right off the combined beds and lands with a thump on the floor. "What the fu–?"

"Ohmigod, ohmigod, I'm so sorry I just walked in like that, but I wanted to surprise Kurt with an early Christmas present, and – and…" Alyssa runs her mouth, but there is a broad smile there that just about suffocates her words. Her cheeks must hurt from grinning so much, Dave thinks with an outward grunt of disapproval of her interruption. "Oh my God, I just can't – I mean, Kurt sometimes talks about a boyfriend, but he never mentions who or where the guy attends and, and…! Oh. My. _God!_" And she squeals again, this time less out of shock and more out of pure jubilee. "Eeek, I'm so happy! Seriously, you don't know how happy you two just made me. Kurt, don't even get me anything for Christmas, okay? Like, seriously. The mental image of you two kissing has been forever photographed into my memory, and it's like crack to me."

"Alyssa…" Kurt sighs, sliding off of the bed and stepping over to her to shut the door and grab her by the shoulders. "I'm sure you just became the happiest fangirl on the planet, but you do realize that I kept mine and Dave's relationship a secret for a _reason,_ don't you?"

She nods briskly, her eyes large. "Oh, of _course_ I do! I mean, it's totally obvious, now: I thought Dave was straight, but he's actually a closet-case because of his sports team. It all makes sense. Like, sports and homosexuality is taboo, and I totally get that, even though I'm a fan of both. So, like, don't even worry about it, okay? Your secret is safe with me! Well, I can't promise I won't mention in passing to another gay-fan friend of mine that I know a real-life couple, but I'll totally keep your names out of it and she's in Illinois anyway, so it doesn't matter. But _ohhh_, you two are just so _cuuuute_! I knew you'd be great together, and I wasn't wrong!" and she giggles again.

Kurt smacks his palm into his forehead, and Dave appears to be two seconds from either punching Alyssa or leaving the room entirely. In place of either of those options, Dave simply clenches his hands into fists and gets up in Alyssa's face. "You better keep good on that promise, girlie, because I won't be kicked off the team because of you."

"Oh, gosh, no! Davey-dear –"

"Call me that again and I swear I'm socking you one, girl or not."

"Um… David, then," Alyssa giggles nervously, choosing something more respectful to call the much, much taller and broader male. "David, I wouldn't _dream _of outing you. That's beyond cruel, and besides, I love how you keep making our team win no matter which position you play in! So no worries. My chapped lips are sealed." And to prove it, the chocolate-eyed girl takes out her lip balm and runs it over her mouth before clasping the muscles together tightly.

"Thanks, Alyssa," Kurt smiles, patting her gently on the shoulder. "We appreciate it."

She nods quietly, but then takes out of her coat pocket a neatly wrapped gift in a blue-green paper that oddly coordinates with her gay friend's eyes. "Like I said, I initially came not to catch you two kissing –" and she smiles at this, "– But to give you your Christmas present, Kurtie. I have to be in Wisconsin and you upstate for the holidays, so I thought, why not give it to him now?" She glances down at her colorful shoes while Kurt takes it in his hands and shakes the box. "It's not something you'd normally get in to, I know, but I think you'll like it. It's one of my favorites." And she glances up again, offering a smile.

Kurt shrugs and peels open the wrapping. Inside there is a small box set of DVDs with two artistically drawn men on the cover. The title reads in English, "Descendants of Darkness," with the added title beneath it in small print, "Yami No Matsuei."

"See? It's a boy-love anime, a short one, only about fourteen episodes long. But the plot is complicated and interesting and the love is sweet and accidental and there's even this stalker-character after one of the main boys." Alyssa smiles. "I recommend watching it in Japanese with English subtitles, since the English voices aren't as pretty and emotional-sounding." She bites her lip. "Is it too weird?"

"No, actually," Kurt says slowly, a smile gradually lifting the corners of his lips. "I think it's very thoughtful of you, and I'm curious about why you're so addicted to things like this. Thanks, Alyssa. I really like it." And for good measure, he gives her a hug. "I'll watch it over break, okay? And even though it's Japanese, it's not… explicit, is it?"

"Goodness, no! You're so not ready for that, and so not the type! Animes like that aren't sold in DVD-form in the U.S., I don't think." She shrugs, smiling again. "I wonder if the ending will make you cry. It made me cry, anyway."

Kurt laughs a little. "We'll see. But my tears are easily triggered, so it most likely will make me cry." And he hugs her again. "You're the best, Alyssa. You gave me two gifts today."

"Did I?" she poses sincerely.

"Yup. This anime series… and your promise to keep Dave's secret. That means oodles to me."

Dave rolls his eyes, but Alyssa looks genuinely touched. "I'm glad," she remarks softly. Then, suddenly, she turns to the hockey player of the small group. "You know, I got you a gift, too. It's not like Kurt's, but I think you'll like it anyway."

She takes something smaller out of her pocket and hands it over to Dave.

It's a classic metal Slinky with a red bow stuck to it, and it's big enough to slip over Dave's large hand and fit around his wrist if he wanted it to.

"Wh… Where did you get this? I've been looking for one of these for ages! I loved Slinkies when I was a kid," Dave remarks with sullen awe, some of his irritation toward the girl ebbing away. "And it's brand new, still perfectly coiled and everything! Before, I only had the wimpy plastic ones that would snap or stretch out…"

Alyssa smiles softly, her lips together as she stuffs her hands in her coat pocket. "Kurt told me that you've been scouring the stores for one of those bad boys for a couple weeks now when I asked him what I might get you for Christmas, since I felt bad getting something for Kurt but not his roommate. It didn't seem fair," she relays with the slightest hint of bashfulness. "So… you don't think I'm dorky for getting you a toy?"

"As my old friend Az would say, 'Hellz to the no!'" Dave laughs heartily. "This is fuckin' awesome! I can't wait to watch it step down the stairs of this stupid dormitory."

"The big ones work best on stairs," Alyssa beams, and she looks completely giddy that both of her gifts were well-received. "Anyway, that's all I wanted to do. I'll leave you two to your make-out session now," she winks, turning and heading out the door with a brief wave, all before Kurt and Dave can correct her and insist that they weren't making out (yet). But she's gone, and as the pair of college boys glance over at one another, they can't help themselves from bursting into hysteric laughter, the reason unknown to them, but it feels so good to let it bubble out that they simply let the laughter flow and fill the room.

**XXX**

Dave drives this time around, Kurt relaxing in the passenger seat beside him. The singer idly sips on a cherry-flavored Coke Zero as he props his feet daintily up on the dashboard.

Dave glances over at his roommate before returning his eyes to the highway. "You know, if we get in a car crash, you're going to snap clean in half because of how you're sitting. You do know that there's an airbag under your calves, right?"

"I trust your driving not to get us into a crash," Kurt replies flippantly. He takes another sip before setting the can down between them in an empty cup holder. He reclines his chair further and snatches the baseball cap off of Dave's head to cover his eyes.

"Hey! I was wearing that," Dave remarks, now squinting into the sunlight. He lowers the eye protector from the ceiling of the car, but his hat was so much better.

"And now I am," Kurt tosses back with a short smile. "Baseball caps are tacky and never match my clothes except for the one time I tried to look butch, but right now, it's very convenient for a nap. Wake me when we are within fifteen minutes of reaching Lima, would you?"

"What? No! Sit back up and talk to me, Kurt! I get bored during car rides," Dave protests.

"Then play some music softly; but let me sleep, please. I didn't get my full eight hours of beauty rest last night," Kurt complains with his best puppy dog pout. Dave takes one look at him and can't help but roll his eyes and consent with a groan.

"Fine. But only because you're an irresistibly adorable brat," Dave grumbles affectionately, and turns on the radio in the background, listening to some local station play Owl City before he switches it to a CD; some old Linkin Park.

Pretty soon, whenever Dave glances over at Kurt, he can't help but smile. The smaller boy is asleep, his chest rising and falling softly and slowly, Dave's hat covering all but the tip of his slender nose and his full lips and cleft chin. It's absurd how much love is rushing like sunshine from an inner heat source within Dave's body. It's ludicrous how much Dave enjoys the feeling.

And oddly enough, Dave doesn't mind the lack of conversation in the car for the remainder of the ride.

**XXX**

They all choose to meet at Noah Puckerman's apartment, because, apparently, his pool-cleaning business blossomed recently into a full lawn-care business that's begun to spread throughout their cow-town hometown. And with the sudden boom of people getting more pools and need for better-looking lawns as more stores and things were built onto the Lima city limits, Puck made more and more money, enough to own a nice place to host "the party of the century" for himself and all his Glee Clubber pals.

By now, the news has spread to each gleek about Dave, and luckily it comes as no surprise when he shows up with Kurt the day of the party, the two of them having slept in a hotel room the previous night when they arrived in Lima.

When they come to the door, Puck is all smirks and casual chuckles as he steps aside to let the pair in, offering them each something alcoholic to drink (despite being under-aged). Kurt declines but Dave accepts, and soon, they're being ushered in to a crowd of familiar faces.

"Kurt! It's been too long," Rachel Berry is the first to announce with that perkiness from high school that Kurt remembers all too well. He smiles a tad awkwardly and hugs the girl he hasn't seen in months. She clasps his hands after the hug and swings them idly between them. "How's Cincinnati? You know, I've been meaning to go there for a while to pay and visit and get a taste of a larger city, but I've been just so busy! I've been doing a few commercials, just for the publicity, and I'm sure you know that I've been attending a school in New York with a huge theatrical arts program. Who knows? Maybe I'll wind up on Broadway! It's been my dream since I was a little girl, and –"

Dave feels the need to interject and cease the eccentric girl's rambling. He places a hand on Kurt's shoulder, peers over at Rachel, and offers a gently smile. "Hey, Berry. How's it goin'?"

"Dave Karofsky," she states, but there's a smile on her thick, glossed pink lips. She immediately disconnects her hands from Kurt's and uses them to shake one of Dave's hands. "It's so nice to see you without a slushie in hand! You seem so… relaxed, now. No longer angry or scared or self-conscious. Which is a very, very good thing, because I always thought that people like you could actually excel in life if you just put your mind to it like I do." And she grins, laughs a little, and moves on.

Rachel turns to Kurt, saying something about finding his stepbrother for him before dashing off.

Dave shakes his head. "She's crazy, and a little irritating, but actually not a bad gal."

His boyfriend makes a scoffing noise, but is soon smiling. "I always thought so. I mean, I disliked her from time to time – especially in sophomore year when we both liked the same guy – but she grew on me. I think that's how someone has to handle Rachel Berry: they have to give her a chance to warm up and feel less of a need to be extravagant, since she's actually quite tame and vulnerable once you get to know her."

The hockey player nods, because it makes sense. Soon, he and Kurt bump into Santana and Brittany, who seemed to have been locked in a drunken kiss seconds ago, but really, who can tell with those two?

"Oh. It's you, Kurt," Santana mutters tartly, and forces a small smile. "And _you, _Karofsky. Who in their right mind would have thought _you _two would end up together?"

"It's like that movie my mom likes with the hot rich guy and the girl-who-could-use-a-makeover that doesn't want to marry him," Brittany mumbles with an off smile.

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Pride and Prejudice?" he offers, trying to guess by the blonde's vague description.

Brittany looks lost. "Is that, like, a rock band? It sounds hardcore," she answers before shrugging and flitting off in another direction, Santana's pinky in hers.

Kurt shakes the encounter off and turns around, headed to the kitchen for something non-alcoholic to drink when Rachel pops up again.

"Holy shit!" Dave sputters, a hand flying to his chest. "Dammit, Berry, don't startle me like that!"

Kurt blinks, also waiting for the startled feeling to wear off when he notices Finn's arm in Rachel's grasp. "I found him!" the brunette states happily.

Finn gives one of his best lopsided smiles. "Hey, bro," he says to Kurt over the music. His eyes flicker over to Dave. "Hey, dude."

The shortest male between the three wags a scolding finger in the air. "Now, Finn, is that any way to greet your stepbrother after months of being apart? Give me a hug, you Frankenteen!"

Finn laughs meekly at the nickname – it's become a normal one for him, it seems, even though he's nearly out of his teens – and slips out of Rachel's grasp to bring Kurt into his arms. They give each other a quick pat on the back before stepping out of the embrace.

"Merry Christmas, man," Finn remarks with a gleeful smile. "And whatever you do, don't drink Puck's eggnog. It's laced with Brandy."

"I'll try to resist," Kurt laughs. He suddenly nudges Dave with his elbow, causing the thicker man to stumble forward.

Dave clears his throat and offers a hand to Finn. "Uh… Merry Christmas to you, too, Hudson. I know it must be weird, since you and I don't have the best history…"

Finn waves it aside. "Man, I'm over that. I'm trying not to hold grudges anymore, you know? And besides, between you and me…" he murmurs as he shakes Dave's hand and uses it to yank the shorter man forward, "I've never seen Kurt this happy before. And if you're the cause, I'm willing to forget all the shit between us, because seeing him happy is something I've been waiting to see for a while." He releases the puck-head and takes a step back, nodding mostly to himself, his brows puckered seriously.

Dave swallows a bit and nods, fighting down a blush rising up from his neck to burn his ears. He never knew Hudson felt so protective of Kurt's well being, and he didn't realize that he'd been secretly seeking the approval of Kurt's close-friend-and-stepbrother until he received it.

"Er, uh… you're welcome, I guess?" Dave replies unsurely. He laughs a bit, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, I try. To, you know, keep him happy," he says softly, only heard over the music because Finn leans in to hear him.

Finn shakes his head and waves it aside, smiling. "I do the same thing with Rachel. And most everybody else. My mom calls me a people-pleaser, says I give in to peer pressure a lot. I kind of do, and I think you do a lot, too. There's nothing wrong with it, though. It helps most times," he says, and it's probably one of the few non-confused, intellectual things Finn has ever uttered. It makes Dave smile, and as he glances beside him at Kurt, he notes that Kurt must have heard it as well, because the soprano is smiling up at his stepbrother with agreement in his blue eyes.

Puck suddenly rolls on by; Artie's wheelchair handles in his hands. He stops the handicapable boy and stands up straight to grin at his guests. "Everybody havin' a rockin' time so far? Almost all the people I invited are here or on the way, and soon the good times can begin."

"'Good times?'" Kurt quotes, laughing. "And what, Puck, do you have in mind as 'good times?'"

"Karaoke, of course! I mean, it's a little stupid, but we're all singers here and _fuck_, I've missed singing with you guys! So I rented this machine from my cousin, and looted a sweet stereo system that you are all enjoying the effects of as we speak – Oh, don't give me that look, Rache, I totally got the stereo from an estate sale. The guy was dead, okay? Like he was going to use it anymore! And it's not much worse than when we took those decorations for our choir room Christmas tree our junior year." He pushes her shoulder playfully. "So lighten up. Anyway, it's gonna be _sick,_ so as soon as Mercedes and Tina get here, we can fire it up and crank out some deafening beats." And he winks.

Artie, throughout this bragging ramble from the guy behind him, is nodding and making gangster-gestures to go along with Puck's words. Then, once the self-proclaimed bad-boy is through, the spectacled boy pipes up as he glances knowingly between Kurt and Dave, "So… you two are an item, eh? I gotta say, I'm a little jealous; wish I had the convenience of living in the same room as the person I'm dating." And he wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, causing Kurt to blush and Dave to shoot him a glare.

"Artie…" Kurt grumbles embarrassedly. He smacks a palm to his forehead. "Must you go there? I mean, it's not all sunshine and lollipops; sometimes Dave and I are at each other's throats because we can't stand one another."

Artie laughs. "I'm just teasing, Kurt. Seriously, I think it's wicked awesome that you two somehow got past all your weirdness and hooked up." His smile turns surprisingly sincere. "And hey, I can't wait to hear a duet for the karaoke."

Kurt grins. "Oh, I have something planned for that, actually." He winks at Puck. "Thanks for the opportunity, Puckerman."

"Always happy to oblige," Puck retorts smugly. He suddenly looks puzzled. "Wait, 'obliged' is the word, right?"

Finn frowns from where he still stands next to Rachel in the circle. "God, dude, I dunno; I'm not really an expert on fancy words…"

Rachel nods. "He's not. I'm trying to school him into having a broader vocabulary, because I insist that not only should the man I love and plan to marry have an extensive list of words in his arsenal, but that he should also understand better the complexity of the dialogue and poetry used in the scripts in plan on forcing him to learn with me so that we can audition together." She smiles brightly. "But to answers your question, Puck: yes, that's the proper word to use."

"Hey, ya'll!" Mercedes suddenly bursts in to the circle. Mike and Tina stand behind her, chatting it up with Quinn and Sam. The foxy black mama rushes over to Kurt's side, ignoring everyone else completely, as she gives him a ferocious hug. "Ooh, white boy, I've missed you so much!" As she pulls out of the embrace to give share a perfectly synced mirroring peck on the cheek, she turns to her best friend's boyfriend. "And you, mister, are in _big _trouble."

The hockey player frowns, his voice falling flat. "What? Why? Just what did _I _do?"

Mercedes throws him off with a wicked grin on her full, charming face. "You've been keeping my Kurt too preoccupied lately! He doesn't call or text me nearly as often as he used to because of you. I have half a mind to snatch him away from you, Karofsky," she states in a mocking serious tone, a smile still playing on her features.

Dave bursts into laughter. "Sorry. If I had known I took up so much of his precious time from you, I wouldn't have started dating him."

"Damn right you better apologize," Mercedes retorts with a hoot of laughter. She slaps Dave on the arm and shakes her head. "Naw, I'm just messin'. I think a tough guy like you might be good for my baby. He needs someone to balance him out. Ain't that right, Kurt?"

And the milky-skinned boy doesn't know quite what to say, so he simply shrugs and offers a small close-lipped smile and suggests mildly, "About that karaoke?"

And Puck just grins and rubs his hands together, announcing that he'll get right on it as he struts his buzzed self over to the stereo system and grabs the microphone. "Hey! Listen up, e'rybody! It's time to have ourselves a little singing competition! I want all of you to buddy up or go it alone, shift through this song list I got in a book over here, and then write your names down. First come first serve, got it? And no fighting, or else I'll have to go all mofo on your asses!"

And so it begins.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17.**

Kurt glances to his left and finds his boyfriend nibbling unsurely on his lip. He leans over and nudges the hockey player with his shoulder. "If I didn't know any better, David, I'd say that you were _nervous._"

"Fuck yes I am!" Dave hisses in a grouchy tone under his breath, his head whipping to stare the paler boy down. "I can't fucking sing in front of a shitload of people! You know that! I barely like singing in front of _you,_ most times…" Why does Kurt think Dave used to slushie the Glee Club? Aside from it being the loser central of McKinley High by the other students' standards, Dave was secretly jealous that they had the courage to stand up in front of everybody and flaunt their talents.

"Dave, be reasonable," Kurt huffs, running two fingers through his own hair to fix it from the heat of the room. "It's nothing. Look, I'll even let you choose the song. What would you feel comfortable singing?"

Dave snorts a laugh. Jokingly, but with a straight face, he lists, "I dunno, Reel Big Fish? Nine Inch Nails? Mindless Self Indulgence?" not really meaning any of them, even if they happen to be bands on his iPod.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Don't make me choose for you, Dave. I'll pick a duet that completely unflattering to your voice if you refuse to cooperate."

"I'm thinking, okay? Why don't you go over there and listen to Brittany and Santana sing? Looks like they're on first. Leave me be for a minute."

"Fine," Kurt sighs, and relents with a shrug as he saunters off in the direction of the crowd.

Meanwhile, left to himself, Karofsky kicks a tow at the carpet and plops himself down on an armchair.

Oddly enough, Mike Chang comes to sit near Dave, cocking his head in the other boy's direction. "You two get into a fight or something? I don't like seeing Kurt pouty like that."

Dave sighs. "Nah, it's nothing. He just doesn't like that I can't pick a song for us to sing, and that I really don't want to sing at all. He expects a lot out of me sometimes, but I don't know how to live up to his expectations all the damn time."

Mike nods solemnly. "Yeah, I get how that is. Tina's the same way." He flicks his head at the stage. "But hey, there's a list up there of karaoke songs, if you wanna shuffle through them and find something that'll please him. Just saying." And he gets up, whistling along with Brittany and Santana's song.

Blinking once or twice, Dave shrugs and decides,_ Why not take a gander?_ Kurt might playfully scold Dave for cheating by looking at a list for inspiration, but whatever. They have to sing something there's actually music for, anyway, for it to sound best.

"Mind if I steal this?" Dave asks as he picks up the album of karaoke CD booklets. The DJ shakes his head, flippant, while he plays the middle-end of the former Cheerios' song. He flips through the book without much interest, skipping all of the cliché musical songs like ones from _Grease._ He hesitates a moment on 'As Long As You're Mine' from _Wicked_, because he remembers hearing it in the car before and thinking about how he occasionally feels that way about Kurt. But he shrugs it off and keeps searching.

Dave stumbles upon Creed songs, relatively old ones, but good ones. 'Hide,' 'Don't Stop Dancing,' 'Wash Away Those Years,' 'Wrong Way,' 'Stand Here With Me,' 'My Sacrifice' (and of course the more popular ones, like 'With Arms Wide Open' and 'One Last Breath'). He ponders this last one, 'My Sacrifice,' in particular; it isn't a duet, and he doubts that Kurt will know it, but… what if Dave sang it alone? What if he proved himself to Kurt that way, since even now, in this place with all of Kurt's accepting, newly easygoing (most likely the independent college life's doing) friends, and with so much love taking over most of the sour parts in Dave… there's always that lingering sense of bully-mentality, that cowardice and self-loathing and fear and disappointment and sense of not being adequate enough, not being _deserving_.

So… could a song fix things?

Maybe. It's worth a shot.

Grinning, Dave finalizes his plan by choosing 'My Sacrifice' by Creed as a song for himself, to sing after something Artie and Puck have jotted down on the list for themselves, and right before a duet Dave selects at random for himself and Kurt (it winds up being 'Strawberry Fields Forever,' the _Across the Universe_ version; he hopes Kurt doesn't mind, or has at least heard the song in passing before).

This should be interesting…

**XXX**

"Looks like we have Dave up next," Puck smirks as he announces the singer to follow him and Artie. He grins. "Does this mean we finally get to slushie you back, dude?"

"Ha ha, very funny," Dave snorts, stepping up to take the mic, and he watches as Kurt's attention is caught from where he stands in the crowd with Quinn drifting off mid-sentence from a conversation with him. "But yeah, I guess this does seem pretty stupid, huh? Me, singing by myself. But, uh, I have my reasons. I think some of you might get it. Anyway… I'm gonna be singing 'My Sacrifice' by Creed, 'cause, you know, it's a good song. And some of the lyrics are… uh, important to me," Dave relays with evident reticence.

The soft guitar starts up, and Dave sways in time with the melody, being careful not to look anyone in the crowd in the eye. Then, as the rest of the drums and such picks up, he starts to get more into it, rocking out to the beat and stealing glimpses of facial expressions breaking out into smiles. Slightly more confident, Dave begins to sing as the mark comes around.

"_Hello my friend, we meet again; it's been a while, where should we begin? Feels like forever…"_ Dave shakes his head, closes his eyes for a moment, and continues, "_Within my heart are memories: a perfect love that you gave to me. Oh, I remember…" _For a brief moment, Dave locks gazes with Kurt's shimmering baby blues, and he sings with real emotion in his voice,_ "When you are with me, I'm free; I'm careless, I believe; above all the others we fly; it brings tears to my eyes… My sacrifice."_

Kurt's now making his way up to the front of the party crowd, trying to get closer to the small platform. He peers up at his boyfriend, his irises darting back and forth, seeking something. Dave can't bear to look; there's something more intimate there than sex, something deeper there than dating. He doesn't want to think about it, even if he's already said 'I love you,' because loving someone and feeling like a certain person is another part of your soul is two separate things.

After a short musical interlude, the lyrics roll around again, and Dave licks his lips and opens his mouth to sing them. "_We've had our share of ups and downs; oh, how quickly life can turn around… in an instant. It feels so good to reunite within yourself and within mine; let's find peace there…"_ And he truly means this last bit, he really does, and he can tell as he risks another look at Kurt that the porcelain boy understands._ "'Cause when you are with me, I'm free; I'm careless, I believe; above all the others we'll fly… This brings tears to my eyes. My sacrifice."_

And with the subsequent round of music, Dave bangs his head a little, his legs broadening in to a wider stance, kicking once or twice on a particularly loud symbol clash, and stretching his chin to the ceiling as he belts out some of the lyrics as passionately as the leader singer of the original.

"_I just want to see you again… I just want to see you again!"_ and he purposely swishes his body on a few notes, then wraps his fists in the air for some of the drum bangs.

Then, as the music starts to slow, Dave relaxes his face and opens his eyes slowly, feeling embarrassed with himself at first for getting so in to it, but then he realizes that this is a room full of gleeks and that each and every one of them are staring at him now in ridicule or disapproval, but in awe and respect, and they seem genuinely pleased with his act, so Dave doesn't feel half as embarrassed any longer when the next verse rolls around.

He leans forward and sings softly, "_'Cause when you are with me… I'm free… I'm careless, I believe… Above all the others, we'll fly… This brings tears to my eyes…" _And he suddenly bursts into being again, air-drumming and doing a surprisingly high kick as he switches back to his more passionate tone, "_'Cause when you are with me, I'm free; I'm careless, I believe; above all the others we'll fly! It brings tears to my eyes; my sacrifice! My sacrifice! I just want to see you… I just want to see you again! …My sacrifice…"_

Panting, Dave waits as the song fades out completely before he re-opening his eyes once again and looking out at all of the stunned/pleased faces of the past Glee Club, and he's more than relieved when they actually applaud him. And soon Kurt is hopping up on the platform, his back to his friends, to give Dave a strong peck on the cheek.

In his ear, Kurt murmurs, "I'm so proud of you."

And honestly, that's the best thing Dave's heard in a long, long while.

"Damn, dude! Why weren't you one of us in high school?" Puck teases as he joins the pair on the small stage and takes the mic that Dave willingly hands him. He gives the other jock a clap on the back before turning to the other partygoers. "So, looks like you can just stay up here, Kurt, 'cause the two of you are on next. Knock 'em dead," he grins, and hands the mic to Kurt first.

"Um… what are we singing, now?" Kurt smiles meekly, glancing over at Dave.

"You'll see. I think you know this one," Dave replies low enough for only Kurt to hear. He winks. "It's a good one. And I know for a fact an artsy-fartsy guy like you has seen the movie it's from."

Kurt quirks an eyebrow in interest, and as the DJ begins playing the song, Kurt's face lights up in recognition. Away from the mic, he whispers excitedly, "OhmiGaga, I love this song!"

"Thought you wouldn't mind it," Dave smiles in return. "You're up first. You can sing all of Jude's lines. I'll take Max's."

Grinning, Kurt nods and begins, "_Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to… strawberry fields… Nothing is real… Nothin' to get hung about; strawberry fields forever. Livin' is easy with eyes closed… Misunderstand all you see. It's getting' hard to be someone, but it all works out; it doesn't matter much to me…"_ Turning back slightly, Kurt hands the microphone over to Dave and a thrill runs through him as Dave's smooth voice chimes out the next verse.

"_Let me take you down, 'cause I'm goin' to… strawberry fields."_ He rolls his head on his shoulders and with a curt shake, adds,_ "Nothing is real. There's nothin' to get on about; strawberry fields forever._" He hop-steps up to Kurt and they place the mic between them to sing in unison.

"_Always know sometimes it gets me; but you know I know when it's a dream; I think you know –"_

Kurt butts in, "_I need a yes –"_

And they continue together, "_But it's all wrong; that is, I think I disagree."_ With the brief musical pause, the two college boys link hands, unashamed, and listen as everyone starts clapping in time with the beat. "_Let me take you down, 'cause I'm goin' to strawberry fields… nothing is real… and nothin' to get on about; strawberry fields forever. Strawberry fields forever…"_

Kurt sings out, "_Strawberry fields forever~!"_

And then they find themselves dancing together, swerving in and out and around one another during the musical interlude as if they rehearsed it, and all too soon, the song is over.

Everyone is screaming now, applauding louder than they had for Dave alone, and there's something like a shining glow of happiness bursting in Dave's chest, a sensation he isn't used to feeling; this sense of pride and accomplishment he rarely feels unless he's made a really good goal at the end of a quarter or an entire game of hockey.

And while Kurt is more used to the feeling, it's different this time, because as he feels Dave's lightly rough-textured hand slip into his own, he realizes this is more of a shared feeling, a joint sense of pride, and it's this kind of happiness that is new to Kurt, because he's always been just a little self-centered with his fashionista, diva-like personality, and suddenly he can feel it melting away completely. It's okay to be a little needy of someone else, a little co-dependent, he realizes. And he likes how it feels, as if a small weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and something truer than he's ever felt before shines through.

They take a quick bow before retreating from the stage, Rachel going up for a second time, but this time with Quinn and Mercedes in tow. They sing a rather powerful version of a mash-up of 'Heaven's A Lie' by Lacuna Coil and 'God Help Me' by Rebecca St. James (Kurt snorts, the name of the artist reminding him of Jesse, and he wonders if Rachel is thinking the same, even temporarily). There is bright applause, and after a few more rounds of karaoke (Dave and Kurt deciding not to go again, because they don't need to, and they don't even know what they'd sing anyway).

After a final round of applause, drinks start circulating again, and pretty soon, there's dancing and loose talking and the hours of the night fly by. Gifts are exchanged, a group collection of Christmas carols is sung, and snow starts to fall outside. It's late, and people are getting sluggish, and a few are admittedly buzzed or drunk, and it's all in good fun even if they are underage.

When it's time to go home, Dave tugs Kurt off to the side and murmurs, "I don't know what to do. You're probably going back to your parents' house, but I don't think I should spend the night with you there like we originally planned. My mom texted me during the gift-giving thing and said that I could come home tonight if I wanted to. Should I?"

Kurt sucks in air. Slowly, he lets it out as he said, "I don't know. That's a tough one, Dave. It's your call. But I'm sure my parents would rest easier if they knew my boyfriend wasn't sleeping in the same house as me; they're already telling me not to ever let them know if we've ever done anything together since we live in the same dorm room." He quirks a smile. "Not that I'd tell them I lost my virginity anyway. That's personal. But yeah, I personally think it might be good for you to go home tonight and use this opportunity to talk to your parents together tomorrow. And it really, really would ease my parents' minds not to wonder if I'm sneaking out of bed to come make out with you on the couch in the middle of the night or something."

And it makes Dave blush to hear that, but he nods in all seriousness. "Yeah, okay. 'S long as you're not offended or think that that I'm ditching you."

Kurt shakes his head. "No, I understand. And I don't think or feel either of those things." He touches Dave's forearm, rubbing it a little. "This is a good thing. We'll go our separate ways tonight, and then some time tomorrow, we can meet back up again and talk, if you like."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Dave agrees, and leans forward to give Kurt a tiny kiss on the forehead, it tasting lightly of salty sweat. "I'll see you tomorrow. I'm going to head out, now. You can ride back with Finn, right?"

"Yeah, but let me get my stuff out of the car first, stupid!" Kurt laughs, nudging Dave. "If I don't, what will I wear to bed? Or tomorrow, for that matter?"

"Oh yeah. Almost slipped my mind."

"What mind?" Kurt jokes airily as he moves to say goodbye to his friends. Dave's gives awkward handshakes in parting – but surprisingly receives a hug from Rachel – and follows Kurt and Finn out the door. They load up Finn's car with Kurt's bags, and then Kurt waves goodbye as Dave piles in to the car.

It's a relatively short drive home, and it almost feels weird to be back since Thanksgiving; now because of the time or all of the events between, but because he knows that he'll be returning as a gay son, and not just as a son. It feels weird, uncomfortably weird. Dave stiffens at the wheel and revolves his shoulders, trying to loosen himself. It's no big deal, right? Both of his parents know, and they seem okay with it, especially since he's going home to them right now.

So then why is it Dave feels so damn _scared?_


	19. Chapter 18

**A/N: #sigh# I wish my version of Mrs. karofsky couldda ben as epic as Mrs. Badass in the Kurtofsky IMs (KIMs). I fuckin' love/stalk/worship that series. LOLOLOLOL. (My sister added Ricardo Karofsky as a friend on Facebook by using our cat's FB since she deactivated her account and I just don't have one/refuse to get one. Anyway, my sister said in the freidn request, "You're a mustache. I'm a cat. Together we make AWESOME." -Yeah, she's as genius as I am. Everybody love my little sister. XD )**

**On another note, I totally hopped on the Tumblr bandwagon, and now I am a little addicted. :'D**

**ENJOY THIS CHAPTER, Y'ALLZ. I'M SICK AND SHALL GO TO BED NOW.**

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**Chapter 18.**

"Welcome home, David," his father greets simply, as soon as the front door opens. Dave feels stiff from the cold, and tense from the music-less drive. "Merry Christmas."

"Yeah," Dave agrees quietly. He enters his own home, the place feeling both cozily familiar and unsettlingly altered. He drops his bags into his bedroom and tosses his coat onto his bed. He exhales slowly, and wanders downstairs. "Mom still awake?"

Paul shakes his head. "No, she went to bed a few hours ago. It's pretty late. I'm only up because of you. But now it's my turn to go to bed."

Dave nods. "Oh. Okay. G'night, then, Dad."

But Paul Karofsky isn't moving. He's looking at his son, and Dave can feel something squirm under his skin.

"Something wrong, Dad?"

Paul shakes his head. "It's nothing much. It can wait until tomorrow. Get some rest, all right?"

"Yeah, alright," the hockey player murmurs in response, feeling uneasy. He eyes his father suspiciously, curiously, as the man rounds a corner of the hallway and enters the master bedroom. Dave himself goes to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and emptying his bladder before washing his hands and heading off to bed.

XXX

Dave stirs awake in the morning from the sound of the clanking coffee pot and the shuffling of feet and newspaper in the kitchen. Dave scrubs his face with a hand and wipes the crush from his eyes as he wanders to the bathroom, and then downstairs.

As he enters the kitchen, Dave is greeted by his mother's smiling face. "Morning, Davey. Want some coffee? It should be done soon," his mother remarks, clearly on one of her positive mood swings.

"Um, yeah. Coffee sounds great."

"Good! Oh, and your father should be back soon. He had to run out for an emergency 'nog run. Can you believe we didn't have any eggnog? Such a crime."

"Yeah…" Dave agrees slowly. "Uh, Mom? Are you feeling okay?"

"Never better, dear," his mother answers sincerely. Her face falls slightly. "But it's not me being this way on my own. I'm on medication, now. You've always thought I was bipolar - now, before your protest, just let me say that I know it's true; I've heard you complain to your friends before – and as it turns out, you were right. It's because of some sort of depression I'm in, some lack of endorphins or something. But I'm all good now, I promise. I'm seeing a therapist. Just started after Thanksgiving."

Dave's face turns sour and grave. "God, Mom, this isn't because of me, is it? Look, I didn't mean to blurt it out like that at Thanksgiving dinner, and I'm sorry that I hung up on your all those times on the phone since, but I just couldn't –"

"Oh, Davey dearest, please don't be that way. It's not your fault. If anything, you've helped me realize that there's something wrong in this household, something I was too prideful to fix, and now I'm seeing it for the first time and I'm trying to patch it up." She sighs languidly, setting down a mug she had been reaching for out of a cabinet. She turns and faces her son fully, a hand being place don her hip. "David, you know I love you, right?"

Slowly, carefully, Dave swallows. "Yeah… yeah, I know that."

"So you would understand, then, that I'm truly _trying_ for you because I love you, right?"

"I guess so… Where is this heading?" Dave remarks apprehensively.

His mother's jaw quakes, a telling signs that she's grinding her teeth out of stress. She stretches her jaw to stop the nasty habit and moves to retrieve some coffee from the pot, pouring the brown, steaming liquid in to her mug. Her eyes lose all contact with her son's. "To be frank, dear, I'm not super happy about what you told me. I'm a little sick to my stomach about it even time I think of you kissing another boy, or possibly getting married to one in another state, or never giving me any grandchildren. I get tear-eyed every time I think about how I've seen you bring home girls for a few days or a week before dumping them, and finally knowing why you did it." Her voice breaks, and she finally looks over at her son. "But… I'm getting better with the idea. It's not the end of the world. You're still the same son I've raised and loved all these years, even if there's this part of you I didn't know existed until now."

"Mom…" Dave whispers, not sure what to say. He doesn't know if he feels like crying or not. But he does know that he has the urge to hug his mother, but as he makes a move to, she shakes her head and cups a hand over her mouth and nose.

"No, don't. I'm just overreacting. I'll be fine." She dumps some sugar and cream into her mug before moving to sit at the table. Stirring the beverage, she asks gently, "What would you like for breakfast?"

"You don't have to cook for me," Dave answers. "I can cook. You're too shaken up right now; any moron, even me, can see that. Tell me what _you _want to eat, Mom, and I'll make it."

His mother sobs lightly, her breath ragged and her eyes pink, but dry. "Thank you, Davey. You're so sweet sometimes."

"Yeah, when I'm not being a yelling asshole," Dave grumbles to himself under his breath.

"You say something?" his mother asks around a slurp of hot coffee.

"No, nothing."

He busies himself with making French toast when his father is suddenly coming into the house, heard but not seen from their place in the kitchen.

"Back," Paul calls out, and there's the sound of stomping snow boots and the soft swishing of a coat being shrugged from his shoulders drifting from the entranceway. The rustle of a plastic pag carries throughout the house accompanied by footsteps as Paul comes into the kitchen. "Oh, that smells good. Nice work, David."

"Thanks. The first batch should be done soon enough. Pour me some of that eggnog, please?"

His father cracks a smile. "'Please'? Haven't heard that word from you in ages. Remind me to thank whoever has been re-teaching you manners."

Dave's ears burn as he hastily returns to his task, knowing full well that Kurt is the one responsible. He clears his throat. "So, um, Dad. Mom and I just had a talk about me… being gay and stuff. Uh. And I was wondering if you already talked to her about what you and I said over the phone that one time, or…"

"Yes, I had," the elder Karofsky clarifies gently. He pours his son a glass of eggnog and slides it over near his elbow. He turns and puts the carton in the fridge before addressing the topic again. "And you do remember what I said about me being okay with it. And that 'building upon' I spoke of… it still applies a bit, and I think it might help if I met who you're currently romantically involved with. I'm sure he's a wonderful boy, and seeing that would help a both a great deal. Your mother agrees."

For confirmation, Dave glances over his shoulder from his cooking and catches his mom nodding. Turning back, he murmurs, "Alright, that sounds fair. Thank you both for handling this well, 'cause I've never handled my own sexuality well."

"And that's part of the reason why we're trying so hard, Davey," his mother butts in as she stands from the table, the sound of her chair telling to Dave's ears. He feels her suddenly touching his shoulder, and he pauses in flipping a slice of custardy bread to peer over at her. She's smiling again, less intensely, but just as genuinely. "I've thought about it lot, now that my head's clear thanks to these meds. I've thought about how pressured and frightened and angry you must have been at yourself, and why your grades slipped so drastically in high school. It all makes sense now; your aggression, your frustration, your hatred for yourself and gays. You didn't ask for it, and didn't ask for parents who were so biased. But being a little more flexible isn't that hard, I've found."

And Dave again feels like he might be on the brink of crying, but he keeps it back and flips the toast before it burns. He waits a few seconds for it to cook before he loads the first bath onto a plate off of the skillet. "Here, you two can eat. I'm not hungry anymore."

"David?"

"Dave, dear, wait –"

The athlete shakes his head and turns to leave the kitchen. But before he can succeed, his father steps in front of him. He places his hands firmly on his son's shoulders and stares deeply into his eyes. "Don't feel ashamed or unwelcome or unloved, son. And don't let your boyfriend feel that way, either. Have him over here this break for dinner, and let us speak to him. We really are here for you, David, even if you don't feel like it at the moment."

"I know, Dad," Dave murmurs. "I'm just… a little overwhelmed." And he licks his lips and bites the inside of his bottom lip, blinking hard, to keep from crying. He doesn't like feeling vulnerable like this. But it often happens with one's parents: one feels like a child again no matter how old they actually are, and in any given moment, they can feel like rebelling or falling apart under their parents' touch or gaze.

"It's okay, it's okay," Paul soothes, and brings his son and his wife (who was hovering just behind her child seconds before) into his arms. He feels his college boy shaking, and his wife is ironically as sturdy as a rock. They stay like that for a lasting moment, a family-sandwich, until Dave's stubbornness kicks in and he breaks free, bolting out of the kitchen and heading into his bedroom, his door shutting behind him.

He breathes in shakily, but his exhale is a broken series of breathy sobs, the tears finally coming once he submits to them, his face in his hands, his hot, reeking morning breath hitting him square in the nose, but cant find it in him to think about it much when his emotional barriers are preoccupied with crumbling to the ground.

Dave's never been very sensitive, even underneath. Okay, so maybe he has been, in the sense that he's always cared far too much what others think of him and has always bottled up his emotions unless they were furious violence. But now…

Now, after hating and then loving Kurt, after being partially rejected and then accepted by his parents, and after all of the little fears strewn across the center of the web (like what his teammates would do/say if they knew that one of their stars is homosexual), Dave can finally let it all out.

Half an hour later, he's sniffling and blowing his nose, weakly tossing the used tissues into his wastebasket. His mother knocks on the door, and for once, he doesn't deny her entrance.

Mrs. Karofsky slips in and comes to sit beside her son on his bed. She lightly touches a hand to his back, right between his shoulder blades, not a trace of any emotion but sympathy on her face. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a recovering Katrina victim. Emotionally, anyway; my stupid breakdown being the hurricane, and my body being New Orleans." Dave sighs heavily, more meaning in his sigh than his actual words. He glances over at his mom. "What's wrong with me? I'm not like this. This isn't me."

"Oh, sweetie, of course this is you. This is the little boy I remember, the one whose eyes would tint green when he cried, the one who would watch Disney movies with me, the one who loved his pet kitty until it died, and when it did, it's the same little boy who told me that he was okay with it in the end because he knew that the cat was loved, and that's all that mattered." She brings him close to her chest and rocks him back and forth, not minding that his arms are hanging limp, not returning the embrace. "You're reverting during a time of emotional turmoil. It's completely understandable. It's what I went through time and time again, and finally found a name for when I started seeing a shrink. It's human, David. It's human to feel this way."

"So you're basically telling me that it's totally normal to feel like shit."

She laughs a little. "Yes, pretty much."

"Fan_tastic._"

She rolls her yes at his sarcasm and pulls out of the embrace, her arms not leaving one shoulder as she does so. "Come on, dear. Let's make you some food. I left out the French toast supplies so that we can make some more. What d'ya say?"

"I say 'okay.' I was lying earlier; I'm fuckin' starving."

XXX

"So they're okay with it?" Kurt asks as he walks alongside Dave down the street, headed into Boarder's bookstore. "With you and me, and your sexual preference?"

"More or less," Dave shrugs. "I think the only thing keeping them from fully freaking out is how pathetic I am. Well, that, and the fact that I'm biologically their spawn. I think that accounts for part of it."

Kurt chuckles oddly. "I think that last thing is part of why my dad is so accepting of me, too," he replies as they enter the store and retreat from the nipping December chill. "But I'm glad. This is a good thing, even if it doesn't feel like it."

"It only doesn't because I'm a fuckin' wreck and I don't know how to handle anything worth shit," Dave spits out under his breath as he inhales the scent of new books and steeping coffee. He walks down a random aisle, quickly, and hears Kurt trot to keep up.

"Hey," Kurt says, concern in his eyes but a reassuring smile on his palely pink lips, "How about I buy you a four-dollar pick-me-up? It's the perfect thing for troubling matters such as these."

Dave stops and glances back at his boyfriend, noting idly how the paler boy discreetly hugs Dave's arm with his hands. He faces forward again, nodding briskly. "Yeah, sure."

One order of coffee later, Kurt and Dave are seated in the back reading area of the bookstore, a cozy nook amidst bookshelves. Kurt is the first to speak, his eyes peering over the rim of his beverage in that purposely flirty way he does. "So. When am I coming over to your house for dinner?"

The hockey player winces, swallowing a gulp of his coffee roughly. "Uh. Soon-ish?"

"And how soon is 'soon-ish,' I wonder?" Kurt remarks as he delicately sips his latte.

"Um… tomorrow? Or the day after? Before Christmas Eve, since my parents figure you want to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with your family," Dave answers unsurely. He subconsciously rubs a calloused fingertip on the soft foam of his to-go cup. "I dunno. They seem way too hyped to meet you, and I don't know why."

"Because I'm amazing," Kurt grins, "And because you might not realize it, Karofsky-my-dear, but you are _very _obvious about how you feel about me. I'd be surprised if your parents _weren't _in a hurry to get to know me. I mean, your dad saw me, like, _once, _but he doesn't _know _me, know me." He shrugs and sets down his latte between his legs as he uncrosses them. "So… tomorrow, then? To keep things simple?"

"Sure. Tomorrow," Dave mutters in agreement.

"It's a date," Kurt grins. "I look forward to meeting your parents. I bet I can woo both of them like I do every adult I meet. I'm very charming to adults when I need to be; just ask any of my Dalton or McKinley teachers, or even any of the professors we have now. They all love me."

"I'll bet," Dave snorts, "Seeing as how you're this witty, cocky sonuva bitch who plays up his good looks and soft voice to his advantage."

"And don't you forget it," Kurt chuckles, even adding in a wink.

His boyfriend simply rolls his eyes. "Thank God my parents will never know what a manipulative little minx you are."

"I'm loving the fact that you know what a minx is," Kurt comments offhandedly. He adds, "Although I'm not as fond of the fact that you're indirectly comparing me to Rachel Berry. She and Finn were probably the biggest manipulative couple I've ever seen. I recently discovered the story of their elaborate duet plan from junior year at Puck's party last night," Kurt states. He shakes his head. "I swear, Rachel is still an enigma to me. She's like me but _isn't _like me. I thought I had her pegged, but every time I think I've got it, she'll do something to surprise me." He smiles a bit. "Actually, we get along most of the time, but that doesn't mean I really understand her. She's so kooky."

"Insanely," Dave agrees. "I hardly know the chick at all, but I know _that _much."

Ad their conversation carries on a while longer, until both of their coffees are drained and Kurt up and decides to browse the vast collection of magazines in the store, looking at all of the celebrity gossip ones while Dave stalks the ones centered around manlier things, such as motorcycles and video games and the like. He avoids the ones with scantily clad women on the cover, however; he's past all that.

Eventually, Kurt is purchasing a magazine in particular full of pin-ups of actors he likes while Dave stands awkwardly off to the side of the register lines, waiting. When they leave the store, Kurt again does that subtle arm-hold, and Dave doesn't mind, now really, because no one is in the parking lot and it feels so nice to have that spot of warmth on him as the midwestern cold rushes up in his face and under the brim of his coat (a wool pea coat Kurt insisted on getting Dave for Christmas as an early gift because Dave needed one and it looks nice and fashionable on him; it has large lapels and is a dark gunmetal grey, which suits Dave just fine).

Despite the drama (really, what else did Dave expect; Kurt Hummel is involved, after all, and he's part of the _definition_ of dramatic), Dave is actually… content. He feels like there's no obstacle he can't overcome, now.

Hopefully.


	20. Chapter 19

**A/N: SORRY ABOUT HOW MEAN I AM TO BLAINE IN THIS CHAPTER, GUIZ. I know it's cliche and horrible, but... I dunno, I guess, in every Karomel fanfic, Blaine has to be a douchebag, and in every Klaine fanfic, Dave has to be an asshole. Otherwise they conflict too much with vying for Kurt's heart and it becomes a clusterfuck of emotion and gayness. D:**

**ANYWAY. Enjoy. This one was fun to write. :3**

**Almost done with this fanfic, now, I think... Yup, yup. Then I can get back to my remaining two LVB/U ficlets and maybe get back around to an Avatar: The Last Airbender and a How To Train Your Dragon multi-chapt fics that I've been neglecting due to my Glee phase/obsession. XD**

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**Chapter 19.**

"Got a date tonight?" Burt smirks as he watches Kurt fret around his room for something to wear. Unbeknownst to the middle-aged man, his son is scavenging about for an outfit that is formal and appealing, yet simultaneously fashionable and sexy. It's proving difficult to be all four things at once, but Kurt will manage.

"Actually, it's more than just a date. I'm meeting Dave's parents," Kurt relays a bit breathlessly as he tugs his robe tighter around himself, his wet hair dripping onto his neck in cool beads as he rummages through his closet and college bags. "Uhg,_ Betty White in a bikini!_" Kurt curses aloud as he angrily, jerkily slides a shirt on a hanger to the other side of his closet. "Why can't I find anything _worthy?_"

Burt raises his eyebrows. "Oookay, I think I better skedaddle. I'll leave you to your… decision-making," his father says dismissively as he turns and heads back up the basement stairs. "Just pick up your rage-induced mess when you're done, son."

"Can do, Dad," Kurt grumbles. "I hate messes anyway."

Sighing, Kurt opts to go with a less-than-perfect outfit due to a lack of time to find the absolute-perfect one. For once, it lacks a bowtie or long tie or scarf, which is _so _unlike Kurt's usual style, but this time he wants to dress to impress and not simply dress according to some personal preference or runway-rip-off style.

Once his clothes are on, Kurt slaps on a limited amount of makeup (just enough to cover some blemishes and make his eyes stands out slightly more) and does his hair. Finally, _finally, _he's ready, and all he has left to do is slip on his coat and shoes. He's expected to be at the Karofsky's in twenty minutes, and being late is _not _as fashionable as others may think, as far as Kurt is concerned.

He's mostly out the door when his father stops him for a second, placing a hand on one of Kurt's shoulders. "Hey. I just wanted to tell you that parents might be stubborn, but they always try to see things through their kids' eyes for just a second because they love them. So even if his parents are a little reserved like he says, they still care about him enough to give anyone he likes a try. So don't be nervous, son; before you ask, I could tell by the way you flipped out over clothes more than usual that something was up."

Kurt makes a drawn-out exhale, his shoulders collapsing under the weight of his dad's hand, finally relaxing. "Yes, I suppose I am a little strung-up on a wire here. I think I know that they'll like me, but…"

"I know," Burt says understandingly, his hand falling from his son's shoulder. "As much as you try not to, and as… _loudly_ as you express yourself, you still are intimidated by anyone's opinions against your sexuality. Trust me, son, I know how that feels; maybe not with sexuality, but other things. There are plenty of people out there who feel intimidated by disapproval of any sort – like a girl who's a but curvier than the rest, or a guy who knows one too many lines from the original Star Trek series off the top of his head – even if they are personally comfortable with themselves and have others who are comfortable with them. It's not necessarily an insecurity; it's just human nature to avoid conflict, that's all."

Slowly, Kurt begins nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I can see that." He gives a waning smile. "Thanks, Dad. You always know what to say. You give the best pep-talks."

"Hey, what are dads for?" Burt half-smiles, giving his son a light nudge with his elbow. "Now get outta here, or you're gonna be late."

"'Kay. Bye, Dad. See you later," Kurt says, and already he's out the door.

To himself, Burt remarks as he shuts the front door, "Don't sweat it, kid. Gay or not, you're great, and anyone who doesn't see that can come talk to Papa Bear." And he laughs a little under his breath.

Elsewhere, while Kurt sings in his car along with 30 Second To Mars's single, '100 Suns' (he blames Dave for getting him started on Jared Leto's rather addicting voice), Dave is back at home, rushing around the house, flustered beyond belief.

"David! Stop it!" his mother laughs at him, playfully smacking a leaning supply out of his hands. "What is wrong with you? Everything's fine~! Everything's clean and in its place. What are you _thinking?_" she jokes, all lighthearted and carefree.

"I'm thinking,_ Mother,_ that you and Dad are being way too casual about this, and that I'm the only one _trying _here!" Dave snaps back.

And just like that, his mother's bipolarity is triggered, medication or not. She turns pink in the face and hurls back, "Don't you dare talk to me that way! We're trying _plenty,_ thank-you-very-much! If you think you're the only one who cares about making a good impression, then you have another thing coming, because your father and I planned on being as civil and polite and sweet as possible to this boy, because we want you to be _happy, _even if it takes away from some of our _expectations!_ So shut up and go to your room until your guest arrives; and don't give me that, 'I'm eighteen and in college now, I don't have to listen to you or go to my room' speech, or I swear to the Almighty Lord above, I will _spank _you like the child you're acting like!"

Dave would like to shout something in rebuttal, but instead he swallows his noisy words and nods dumbly, marching aggressively up the stairs, his footfalls heavy. His mother shakes her head at him in her wake, brushing away the mental image of her son as a ticked-off little puppy as it flashes across her mind.

Ten minutes after this little episode, right as Mrs. Karofsky is getting the pot roast out of the oven, the doorbell rings.

"I got it!" Dave yells quickly, and he's racing out of his bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time until he jumps the last three steps. He slides across the hardwood floor on his socks, practically ramming into the door as he slips on the rug. He wrenches the door open, a rush of icy air smacking him in the face as he smiles at the visitor on the other side. "Hi."

The slimmer boy shivers, his gloved hands hugging his biceps. "Hi. Can I come in?"

"Of course! I mean, that's why you're here, so…" Dave says jumpily, and steps aside. "I can take your coat," he offers as he shuts the door.

"Thanks," Kurt murmurs, teeth chattering, and allows his lover to help him shrug off his winter-wear. Mrs. Karofsky enters the entranceway right then, a smile on her face.

"Hello, you must be Kurt Hummel," she says pleasantly, as if her brief, ranting episode earlier hadn't occurred at all. She steps forward and shakes his hand, but jerks backward in surprise. "Oh! Your hands are like icicles! Come into the kitchen and get warmer. You can wash your hands in the sink to heat them up. David? Why don't you set the table? Your father should be home soon." To Kurt, she adds, "Today's Paul's last day before his allotted time away from the office for Christmas. Would you like something to drink?" she asks as she escorts the soprano into the kitchen.

He shakes his head and turns on the faucet, getting the sink water nice and hot. Dave gets down four plates from the cabinet and starts setting them table with them, grabbing forks and knives and glasses to set down afterward. Kurt rubs his hands under the lightly steaming water, the prickle of his fingertips a nice, telling sign of the feeling returning to the digits.

"My car's heater is acting weird. I think it might be broken, pumping out air conditioning instead," Kurt remarks as he turns off the water and takes the towel Dave's mother provides for him. "It was so cold driving here."

"You poor, poor baby!" Mrs. K says sympathetically. "You'll have to have a mechanic look at it."

Kurt grins. "Nah, I can check it myself later. My dad's a mechanic, and has been teaching me the ropes since I could hold a wrench without dropping it or sticking it in my mouth."

Her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen in surprise. She smiles. "_Really?_ No offense, dear, but just looking at you I wouldn't have expected to hear that."

"Most people don't," Kurt agrees with a short laugh, and Dave is secretly peering over around his chore at how his mother and dormmate are interacting. "But that's how it is. I can tell you just about anything that's wrong with your car if you tell me the symptoms, and I can fix half of the problems. But for the rest, you'd have to take it up with Hummel Senior."

Dave's mother actually _laughs _at this one, going as far as to snort a little. "My goodness. I never knew," she says. She glances over Kurt's shoulder at her son, who looks frozen now that his task is complete. "Davey? You need to keep this one. He'd save us a bunch of time and money on our cars."

The hockey player unexpectedly blushes, choosing not to respond to this comment. He clears his throat and declares, "I think I hear the garage door. I'm going to go see if Dad's home yet." And promptly disappears.

As soon as he's gone, Kurt cocks his head and looks to where Dave's mother is turning the gas off underneath a pan full of broccoli florettes. "Don't mind him, Kurt. I think he's just glad that you and I are getting along already."

"Is that what we're doing? I hardly noticed," Kurt teases as he moves to slip on an oven mitt. "May I? The bakes potatoes you have in there smell done."

"Aren't you a helpful little charmer," Mrs. Karofsky giggles. "Yes, of course you may. Thank you."

"No problem," Kurt says a she opens the door and retrieves the tinfoil-wrapped vegetables. "And might I say you have quite the meal planned out here; pot roast, potatoes, broccoli; the classic American triplet, unlike the rounds of pizza and KFC my family often gets because Carole is too busy to cook most nights and my father is incapable of preparing food that isn't frozen or pre-packaged. And don't get me _started _on Finn."

Mrs. Karofsky laughs. "Well, I'm not the best chef in the world either, but I know the basics. And I watch plenty of cooking shows to pick up on more little things. The Food Network is sometimes the only decent thing on my five hundred useless channels."

Kurt smiles. "Amen to that."

Soon, dinner is on the table and the two men of the household are entering the kitchen, father and son wearing mirroring blank expressions for different reasons. Paul looks worn out from work, and Dave looks like he's trying to remain calm. Kurt realizes, suddenly, that this must be just as stress on Dave as it is on Kurt, if not more-so, since Dave is seeking further approval from his parents than Kurt is seeking in the same people.

As they sit down to eat (pray first, which unnerves Kurt a little since he doesn't believe, but he goes along with it because it's the polite thing to do), Paul strikes up the conversation first, trying to make light of the situation.

"So I suppose things have changed drastically since the first time we met, eh, Kurt?" Mr. Karofsky remarks. "That day in the principal's office."

"Y-yes, I daresay things have," Kurt sputters around a piece of meat. He swallows, and then continues, "Thank you for that time, by the way. I meant to thank you, since you kind of stood up for me, even against your own son." _'Now, why would Kurt make that up?' _he had said, and like Kurt, Paul remembers this.

Paul nods as he chews on a bite of broccoli. Clearing the way, he replies, "You're welcome, then. But I wasn't against my son; I was just being honest; doing what was right, what was fair. I knew that David had been lying. I can always tell when my boy lies, no matter how smooth he tries to talk." Dave looks uncomfortable at this, but it goes unnoticed. Paul goes on, "Still, I could tell that you were a decent kid even then, Kurt. It took guts to be in that room with two fathers and a kid who bullied you. I respected that, even if, at the same time, I suspected… well. Why we were there."

"What d'ya mean, you suspected _why?_" Dave says suddenly, his tone more stunned than angry or defensive.

Paul looks to his son for a fleeting moment before re-locking gazes with Kurt. "I didn't suspect you were gay just yet, in my defense. I noticed your… way of speaking, yes, but plenty of boys have softer voices. And you were dressed well, but not too out of the ordinary. What I was referring to was David's behavior; his acting out, his poorer grades, etcetera. And the fact that you had a very open, truthful face. I knew something was wrong, and that we were there because my boy in fact _had _been harassing you. But," he says curtly, straightening himself in his chair and stabbing a square of meat with his fork, "That's all behind us now. I hear that rooming with you has been a good thing for my son; he's not as violent or cynical about things now." And he pops the bite in his mouth, smirking lightly beneath the short beard that frames his mouth.

Kurt blushes, dropping his fork onto his plate with a startling loud _clink-clankkk, _because all he can think about is how Dave's behavior has improved and calmed down significantly because the closeted gay finally got laid. But he _cannot _say thing for a whole _variety _of reasons, even if it _is _the truth, so instead, Kurt clears his throat and replies, "Yes, well… I like to think I usually bring out the best in him, even when he's just about at his worst."

"Well said," Mrs. Karofsky approves with a smile. "Seconds, anyone?"

And minutes later, the Karofskys are cleaning up the meal, insisting Kurt not help because he's the guest, and Paul gets out a beer and starts sipping the foamy, amber liquid from a tall glass while his wife and child wrap up the last of the tidying. He gestures for Kurt to leave the kitchen table and join him in the living room for a man-to-man chat.

"Kurt, if you don't mind my asking… why do you like my son? I know plenty of reasons why I think he's a good guy, but I want to hear what you think," Paul says in firm severity, his expression stone-like but his brown eyes warm and sincerely curious.

Kurt glances down and away for a moment, his hands tying up in knots in his lap. When he looks back, there's a funny smile on his lips. "Well… I don't want to sound too disgustingly affectionate, but…" He glances up, holding the father of his lover's gaze. "There's so much I love about him. He –" Kurt lowers his voice slightly, no not to be heard by the boy in question (the singer knows how much Dave hates to be embarrassed) –"He's a little stubborn, but he's very determined and dedicated to excel in not only hockey and college to get a degree, but also to make sure that he comes to terms with himself and being with me, which is more than I could ever ask for in someone. To have him try so hard… it shows he really cares, even when we have out little disagreements.

"But it's not only that. There's the little things about him I love, like his funny, randomly-placed beauty marks, and the curve of his eyebrows, and the way he looks at me when he smiles, and the sound of his voice when he sings, or how he knows precisely when I need comfort or reassurance or something silly said or done to come along to cheer me up. I don't know how he knows, but he does, and it's… romantic, even if Dave's a bit of a bumble when it comes to romance." He quirks a smile, chuckling a bit to himself. "Actually, I used to think so little of him before. I used to only see him as this big, mean monster that had no heart and was always furious with everything and took out his hatred on the world on all of the people in it. But that's not Dave at all. He's thoughtful and is the sort who cares even when he acts like he doesn't give a rat's tail. Kind of like Sue Sylvester," he adds jokingly, but knows that the older man won't get the reference. "But it reminds me a bit of Disney's Beauty and the Beast: Beast was so ruthless at first, but once Belle got to know him, she realized that he isn't a bad guy after all, and that she could actually learn to love him past all of his 'ugliness.'"

Paul tilts his head, one hand coming up to idly stroke over his salt-and-pepper-haired chin in thought. In a serious and careful tone, he responds, "I asked why you like him, but you keep using the word 'love.' You're so young… Do you even really know what love feels like?"

"How do any of us know at any given time what love is, or whether or not we feel it for something or someone?" Kurt returns just as seriously. "It's just a natural sense we're born with, as people, and come to recognize and give a name over time. I felt love for my parents when I was a child, but didn't have a name for it until I was older. And I felt fondness toward my friends, but didn't realize how deep it went until I left New Directions – McKinley's Glee Club – and attended Dalton, finally feeling that ache of loss you get when you miss someone. And even now, I'm trying to discern if what I'm feeling is 'true love' or not, but I think it is. I've been around your son for a long while now, seeing all sides of him – high school, home life, hearing about his childhood, and then being around his everyday self – and I can honestly say that I accept all parts of him, the good and bad and ugly, and I love every square inch. He doesn't believe me, I don't think, and I don't know how smitten he is with me, but I don't care. I just want to be with him."

Paul is completely taken aback, his face open, shocked through and through, but not in a negative way. For the first time in years, Paul Karofsky feels like crying. This boy in front of him… granted, it is a _boy,_ barely nineteen yet, nowhere near a grown adult, and definitely _male,_ but he's besotted and mature, calm and collected, completely honest and respectful, and moreover, perfectly mannered. Almost too good to be true. But he's here, and he cares this much and has this strong of an opinion of _Paul's son, _and how can Paul ignore that?

This is a monumental moment. Utterly essential. Paul needs to mark this and inform his wife that what Dave has going on with this fellow Lima boy across from him – this is real. Homosexuals or not, what they have is _real._ And Paul just _can't stand _to dust it off like it's nothing.

"Honey?" he calls out to his spouse, his eyes finally unlocking from the blues ones staring at him as he stands up from the couch, his beer forgotten on the end table. "Can I have a word with you in our bedroom for a moment?"

And Kurt feels more than nervous, his fingers quaking as he unclasps them and moves them to grip the armrests on the chair he's seated in. He watches restlessly as Dave comes into the living room at the same time that his father exits it.

"What's goin' on?" Dave mutters to Kurt as he takes a seat near the slightly shorter man. Kurt shakes his head, blushing lightly, and waits until Paul is down the hall, saying something lowly to his wife, their bedroom door shutting behind them.

Kurt turns to Dave now that they're alone and blinks back tears. "I don't know if made everything a whole lot better or far worse," he whispers.

"Why? What did you say?" Dave answers eagerly, anxiously. "What did _my dad _say to you?"

"He asked why I like you," Kurt reveals softly, his eyes looking a little greener than usual as they tear up, but not a drop spills over his lashes. "And I happened to slip up, confessing how much I _love _you instead, and why."

Dave blinks, his full stomach churning happily for a moment before dread sinks down like a sickeningly cold, thickly green wash of pea soup dumped over his head. He breathes out shallowly and runs a hand through his hair, which is getting a little longer (and slightly curlier) on top. "Oh. Well, uh… th-this could be a good thing. I mean, I just hope you didn't say something gross about our sex life like I might've accidentally said if I were put in the same situation."

Kurt barks a laugh, dabbing his eyes with the corners of his sleeves. "_Please. _I have much more tact than _that,_ Dave." He sighs. "Still, I wonder if I came on too strong. It would be a shock to any parent if someone – boy or girl, gay or straight – said to them that they're deeply in love with their child."

Dave's ears burn as he stutters the question, "D-do you really like me _that much?"_ Because Dave's known for a little while now how wholeheartedly he's beside himself in love with Kurt, since Kurt is everything he's ever wanted, everything he's ever _needed, _and while Dave's a bit humiliated to admit it aloud, he has admitted to himself how dependent he is on the boy next to him to keep him content with and focused in life.

Kurt turns and stares at Dave oddly for a second before replying earnestly, "Yes, David. _That_ much. I didn't think it possible, but… I do. I really do love you that intensely."

Dave's lips part and his jaw drops enough to be considered a gape. Then, slowly, his lids fall to half-mast and he leans over the space between their chairs to take the side of Kurt's face in his hand, his eyes closing entirely as he presses his forehead to Kurt's, murmuring, "You will never know how much that means to me." His heart feels like it just might explode into a hot, liquid gold little sun in his chest as he presses his lips to Kurt's, feeling the paler boy tremble in his grip, making small whimpering sounds in the back of his throat as he kisses Dave in return.

As they part, Mrs. Karofsky secretly enters the room, but ducks behind a wall and peers out when he realizes with a flush of embarrassment that the boys had been lip-locking a moment before. She blinks, finding the smallest rise of disgust nagging at her stomach, but she shoves it down for her son's sake.

"Godda, you are such a _boy,_" Kurt smiles with a half-hearted roll of his eyes. He reaches into his pant pocket and withdraws a roll of chapstick, vanilla-flavored. He uncaps it and holds it up between their faces. "Pucker up, sweetie. Your lips are raw, almost chapped, and that just won't _do_. You need to take care of your skin the most in the winter, your lips particularly vital."

"That so?" Dave poses with an amused arch of an eyebrow, finally giving in and puckering his lips. Kurt applies the chapstick with care, and instructs Dave to rub his lips together before popping them. Dave does so, and his lips are looking and feeling better already.

Snapping the chapstick shut, Kurt smiles. "There. Much better."

Mrs. Karofsky chooses this moment to announce herself with a shy clearing of her throat, stepping fully into the room. The boys jump in their skins, immediately leaning away from one another.

"Mom!" Dave sputters.

"Mrs. K!" Kurt says at the same time. He gives a sheepish smile while Dave adverts his eyes. "Have a pleasant chat with your husband?"

Mrs. Karofsky's face is unreadable as she moves to the couch across from them. "Yes, I did. And, you know, I've always been skeptical about whether or not there can be love between two people of the same gender – I always thought it was all about the sex –" she doesn't miss how both boys wince at this – "But after hearing what Paul had to say and what I just saw –"

"You _saw_ that?" Dave sputters.

His mother chooses to ignore him. "I can't believe it, but… you two are absolutely adorable. I've never seen a young couple so much in love or so oddly well-suited for one another." She grins brightly. "In other words, I fully approve. Consider my mind officially changed."

"Whuh… Really?" Dave murmurs, and Kurt looks touched beyond words.

"Yup! Now, who wants dessert? I bought ice cream, even if it's the middle of winter."

And the rest of the evening ends up being one of the absolute best of Dave's life, and Kurt can't believe how well things turned out.

That is, until Kurt gets a text from Blaine about half an hour before Kurt's meant to return home.

The text reads, _'Kurt, bb! Missin' you. Just broke up with Jason and saw him to the airport. I wish him well, but now I'm lonely. I know Jesse can be an asshole, but he can be really sweet too; think I should get back together with him? After all, he was very nice in bed, if I do say so. –Blaine.'_

Kurt scowls at the text and abruptly stands from the family room where the Karofskys and himself have been watching a movie. "I'm terribly sorry, but I need to make a call. It's _urgent,_" he grinds out.

Dave stands as Kurt flees the room, but his father lowers him back to the sofa while his mother reaches over and touches his forearm.

The three none-too-subtly attempt to eavesdrop, all of them remaining perfectly silent as they try to listen to what Kurt is saying in the other room. They're doing it out of sheer curiosity, mainly wondering what could make sweet, well-mannered Kurt suddenly scowl like an angry badger, and what is so _urgent _that he had to leave in the middle of _Mission Impossible_.

Suddenly, after lots of low murmuring, Kurt's voice escalates enough to be heard clearly by the three Karofskys, even over the still-playing action film:

"No, Blaine, I really _do _think you're a big, gay slut! You're always about being holier-than-thou, but you're actually just a huge _attention whore _who feels the need to have as many little puppies following you around as you please just to give your huge fucking ego a loving stroke! Well, you know what? I'm done with your little scandals. I don't want to be that friend you fall back on for an ego boost, or that little minion you use to do your dirty work like I did in high school, nor do I want to be that gay guy you know that you think you can try to 'date,' or should I say, 'get into the pants of' for that friends-with-benefits free fuck? No. Shut up, Blaine. I'm serious. How did I ever call you my friend? I thought you were a real dapper gentleman, but I see now you're just a waste of space. No. _No! _Don't try to talk your way out of this one, Blainey-_dearest,_ because I'm through with you. We are no longer friends, do you hear me? I don't want another text or call from you ever again! Good _bye!"_

Kurt storms back into the family room, looking flushed with anger, his fists clenched, one of which gripping his iPhone until the knuckles are white. He plops down with a huff next to his boyfriend and attempts to settle back into the couch cushions, and reengage in the movie.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Kurt murmurs tiredly, "But I was getting tired of Blaine's bullshit. He's someone I knew form Dalton," he adds as an explanation to Dave's parents.

But Paul Karofsky is smiling, and his wife is beaming approvingly.

"It's quite all right, Kurt," Paul says. "To be honest, I thought you might've been a bit of a pushover, a little too tender, but after hearing that… I see that you have real backbone. You're strong, and I respect you even more."

Mrs. Karofsky laughs. "Yeah! I mean, for a minute there, I had you pegged all wrong. You're a feisty little guy, aren't you?"

Kurt and Dave both blink in astonishment. "Wha– I _am?_" He straightens himself. "I mean, of course I am. No one messes with a Hummel."

And this only succeeds in making both parents laugh – Mrs. K a cute giggle behind a hand, and Mr. K a hearty, albeit short-lived chuckle.

Dave stares on in amazement, trying to wrap his mind around what had just transpired in the past ten minutes. Kurt getting a text; Kurt getting angry at that douche Blaine that Dave despises anyway; Kurt being acknowledged as _feisty_; and his parents now officially adoring Kurt.

The jock shakes his head. Nope, he simply _cannot _wrap his mind around any of it. But it does make him oddly happy, and that's enough.

That's enough.


	21. Chapter 20

**A/N: This story has over 71,000 words in total, according to FF.n. That's fuckin' CRAZY. On my Word doc it just says it has over 69,000. BUT STILL, THAT'S A LOTTA WORDS. WHY IS THIS FIC SO MUCH LONGER THAN I HAD ANTICIPATED/INTENDED/ORIGINALLY WANTED? AND WHY CAN'T I STOP? Stupid brain. Stupid fingers. This is all going so very downhill so very fast and I don't understand it in the least.**

**On another note, someone approached me with an idea for a Butterfly Effect-esque Dave/Kurt fanfiction. Think I might do it, but in my own way and not like the book/movie much at all aside from the basic concept. Hurm, dunno. Would be fun to make, though... Sorta like a Glee AU-but-not. Huhuhuhu.**

**Anyway, enjoy this chapter. I'll be on Tumblr doin' random shit. Ciao~ XD**

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**Chapter 20.**

The holidays pass like a blur; there's that traditional family Christmas, then there's that parents-meeting-parents-between-a-couple that's awkward and comforting at the same time, then there's the celebratory sneak-off-and-have-New-Year's-sex thing, and then there's the long farewell among family and friends after New Year's when it's time for everyone to return to college in time for about half a week until classes start up again.

((Although there was that awkward moment during the farewell in which Mrs. Karofsky, on one of her bipolar med "highs" (meaning good spirits instead of bad ones), said, "And make sure that the next time you come back, you have an adopted baby in tow, because I remembered that I can still have grandkids and your father can still have someone carry on his last name if you two adopt! So _do _it."))

The ride home is full of singing – Kurt, mostly, with the occasional lyric or two coming from Dave – and constant other noise, like the commercials on the radio and idly chatter leaking from Kurt's mouth.

Suddenly, Kurt cuts himself off. "Come on, Dave, say something. You've been so quiet lately."

"I've got a lot on my mind," Dave admits. "More hockey when we get back. My parents being oddly… cool about things. You. Dealing with fangirly Alyssa again, although that's not as bad. Worrying about semester class changes, hoping that Tyler isn't in one of them, since I can't stand that prick. And then seeing what my grade is for all the finals we took before break started. Those sorts of things."

"Wow. That is a lot on your mind. But, uh… any particular notion attached to the piece concerning me?" Kurt says hopefully, a small smile making its way onto his face.

Dave rolls his eyes as he parks the car in the student parking lot. Turning off the ignition, Dave snorts with playful sarcasm, "Figures that out of all of that, you only hear about yourself." He unbuckles himself and leans over to give Kurt a peck off-center from his mouth, just below his cheek, right on that flawless skin. "You hurt my feelings."

"You know I care about your other worries, too, Dave," Kurt replies with a roll of his eyes as he, too, unbuckles. He pops open the door and continues talking as he and Dave exit the vehicle. "I was just wondering why you had an explanation for every other thought, but when it came to me, all you said was, 'you.'" They meet around back, Dave popping open the trunk and both of them taking their bags into their arms.

"Because my thoughts of you don't _need_ an explanation, _duh._ I'm always thinking about you. I kind of have to; you're my roommate, I'm dating you, and my parents approve of you because you somehow convinced them – and me – about how much you actually love me, which is something I'm still trying to wrap my mind around, because _saying _the words 'I love you' sometimes isn't half as powerful as the meaning behind all of the words that _aren't '_I,' 'love,' and 'you.'"

"Wow, Dave. I think that's one of the most intelligent things you've ever said. I guess you – and Finn, too, come to think of it – have your moments of genius like the rest of us," Kurt grins, walking alongside his lover to interlock their fingers with their only free hands. No one seems to be around, so Dave is fine with it.

"Shut up, Hummel. Man, every time I'm serious with you, you act like it's nothing." He says this, but he's smiling as well. Kurt simply laughs in reply and rests his head on Dave's shoulder while they walk closer to the dorm building.

"That break was so fun, though. I'm just in such a good mood because of it that I wonder how you can feel any dread. It's all so… warm and fuzzy-feeling, as if I ate an entire field of sun-warmed dandelions."

Dave snorts as he holds up his car keys – still in his hand from when they unlocked the trunk for their bags – and unlocks the dorm building door. "You're so weird. You come up with the weirdest analogies and similes and metaphors and all those other English terms I –" and he cuts himself off, frowning his catlike brows as he turns his head to glance behind them.

Kurt lifts his head from Dave's shoulder and tugs on their still-linked fingers. "Something wrong?"

Dave shakes his head. "No, I guess not. Just thought I heard something, or saw something move in my periph'. But it was probably a car on the street or a bird or something. Anyway, I was just saying that you always tack on little things at the ends of your sentences that are, like, indefinable shit I can barely remember learning in school, yet you use them all the time."

Kurt chuckles a little. "Yes, well. You said so yourself a while back that I have a poetic vocabulary. It seems that applies to my speech patterns as well." And he is so bright and cheery that Dave wonders if Kurt took something this morning, or if he genuinely is still glowing from the holidays.

"Your over-exaggerated happiness is kinda making me nauseous," Dave mutters huskily, opening the door to their room. They slip inside, dropping their traveling bags into the floor near the attached bathroom. Dave turns the tables on the moment and moves to pin Kurt against the wall on the other side of the closed door. "Maybe I should kiss that big, fat, dimpled smile off your face."

"Hmm, I don't think I'd mind that," Kurt hums softly, and wraps his arms around the beefier boy's neck, gripping his own wrist to solidify the loop. "I talk too much anyway."

"You really fucking _do,_" Dave purrs as he leans forward and nips and licks at the tender spot where Kurt's jaw meets his neck, just in front of his ear. In fact, that little bit of flesh is such a temptation that Dave shifts over and takes Kurt's velvety-soft earlobe in his mouth, sucking lightly. Kurt sighs and presses against Dave, their chests meeting for a moment. Planting a kiss or two down Kurt's neck before moving to his mouth, Dave mumbles, "You know," kiss, "We should really," kiss, "Try that thing we did," kiss, "On New Year's Eve," kiss-kiss, "Again." And he pulls back enough to place Kurt's reaction to his suggestion.

Kurt blinks, then blushing a lovely shade of rose. "You mean… when _I_ was pitcher, and _you_ were catcher?"

"Baseball analogies again?" Dave whispers with a breathless, humorless laugh. "But yeah. That. It was… interesting. Sorta wouldn't mind testing that again."

"I will never understand you, David Karofsky; you're full of too many surprises," Kurt mutters as he lifts himself the remaining inch-or-so between them in height to connect their lips. "And this time, _you're _the one talking too much."

XXX

Right before the game, _seconds before the fucking game was about to start,_ he just had to come in and ruin it all. He just _had _to.

_One hour prior…_

Tyler Jurcen comes crashing into the locker room, pre-game, a fierce looks on his face. People throw questions and greetings at him as he whizzes by, storming determinedly directly up to one single person.

"_Karofsky!_" he shouts, _roars,_ like some Viking about to kill a beast, at the mentioned peer. He grins something ugly as he comes face-to-face with his target, looking down slightly.

"And what the fuck do _you _want, Jurcen?" Dave replies, cold and hateful as ever. But Tyler seems not to let it bother him. Instead, he gets up nice and close, so much so that Dave starts to twitch in anger beneath his hockey gear, and can almost smell the other college boy's disgusting breath. He smells like he might've been drinking.

"I know what you are, _David,_" Tyler hisses, slurs, _growls._ He sticks his nose in Dave's face, glaring him down. "I _know. _I saw you two together. Friends my ass; roommates my ass! Friends – roommates – don't hold fucking _hands _and lean on each other and _kiss in the car._"

So it was _Tyler_ who Dave saw in his peripherals that day he and Kurt returned from Lima. But it doesn't matter. Dave stands up straight, shoves with both hands on Tyler's chest until the boy stumbles back, and threatens, "I don't know what you're talking about, _dude,_ but if you don't get the fuck out of this locker room you _clearly _don't belong in anymore within the next five seconds, I'll have me and some of the boys remind you what being rammed feels like."

"Ramming. Yeah, that sounds about right for you, doesn't it? You ram other players on the ice, and then when you get back to your dorm, you start ramming your boy toy's ass, am I right?" Tyler shoots back, and this time, people are attentive, listening, ever since the shove. Ever since they all fully realized that, oh yeah, Tyler's not on the team anymore, so he actually shouldn't be here, but hey, we'll all just want him throw down with Karofsky anyway.

"Dude, is he calling you _gay?_"

"Man, Tyler's crazy! Just look at him, he's drunk! Totally whack, man. We all know Karofsky's straight."

"Yeah, man. Stop accusin' Karofsky of stuff he ain't into."

"Isn't into?" Tyler says loudly, throwing up his arms, and Dave is two seconds from tackling his ass, foul-even-on-the-football-field style, to the fucking _ground. _To the fucking _unforgiving, cement floor _of the locker room. "HA, don't make me _laugh!_ David over here is a fucking cocksucker, aren't you, D_aaaaa_vid? You like that twink-you-call-a-roomate's cock in your mouth?"

"That's _it,_ Jurcen, your ass is _mine,_" Dave spits back furiously; and before Tyler can come back with a witty remark like, "That's exactly what you'd like to do, isn't it, gaybo?" and before anyone in the locker room can so much as blink, Karofsky is driving Tyler into the ground without mercy, his fist drawing blood from the busted nose and broken lip of the drunk below him.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" comes the coach, roaring into being like Bieste had about two years ago in a different locker room, in another lifetime, to break apart Same Evans and the same attacker on this locker room's floor. "Get your paws off of him, Karofsky! What the hell is your problem?"

"Coach, Tyler came in here and started calling Karofsky gay. It was totally uncalled for, man. Totally unjustified."

"Yeah! Tyler's just a drunk, man. Totally whacked out. Just get his ass outta here so we can play."

The coach absorbs these witness statements as he yanks the two wrestling boys apart. Tyler is the first to speak when the coach asks, "Do I need a good reason not to boot your ass out of here, Jurcen?"

"I have one if you do," Tyler sniffs, wiping blood from his upper lip, then moving to wipe more from his chin. "I might be a little drunk, but I'm not making this shit up. I _saw _them, okay? Karofsky fucking _lied _to me. Lied to all of you. Fucker isn't straight; fucker's _gay._ Just ask him. He hasn't denied it yet."

Some more remarks from the peanut gallery pipe up.

"Hey, wait a minute… Jurcen's got a point. Why didn't Karofsky say anything to, like, _defend _himself?"

"Yeah, all he did was tell Tyler to basically shut up…"

"Karofsky, man, he's not telling the _truth, _is he?"

"Yeah, dude, 'cause if he is, that's not _cool._"

"No way. Totally not cool."

The coach looks to Dave now, and all Dave can feel is the adrenaline racing through his system, and all he can hear is his heartbeat drumming in his ears, making them ring, and making all of the voices in the locker room echo.

His thoughts wash over his mind like a waterfall breaking from a dam:

_Kurt's out there. He's in the audience with Alyssa, waiting to see me come out on the ice and take home another win for the team. People are counting on me. But what's more important? Kurt's approval, or the approval of my team? I would have chosen the last option in high school. Hell, I _did_ choose that option back then. To me, sports were everything, and I didn't care if I got Kurt pissed or made him hate me or looked like the fucking douchebag coward of a closet case that I was. I didn't care because I was scared. _

Dave swallows hard, his eyes turning to stone as he gazes directly back at his coach, about to give an answer.

_But… I'm not scared anymore. My parents like Kurt, they still love me, and even Kurt's parents are okay with me. Even his friends don't mind me. So who really matters? Not these fucking people. Only Kurt._

"So what if it's true? I like guys. Actually, I really love one guy in specific, but hey, semantics. I'm as queer as a fucking rainbow, but I'm a goddamn awesome hockey player, and you all know it. So we can sit here and talk about how faggy I am, or we can go out there and play. What's it gonna be?" Dave retorts sourly, firmly, strongly. He's never felt so good about himself before; it's like a whole new door has opened (a closet door?), and suddenly the light is pouring in, and he feels so, so much better.

Tyler howls, _screaming _in frustration as he turns on his heel and exits that his plan to out and emotionally cripple Dave Karofsky failed so miserably, because they really are very different after all, because Dave is actually so much braver than Tyler, and it _wounds _Tyler in ways he can't express outside of a screech, because Dave is the guy Tyler can never hope or dream to be, and they both know it.

However, the angry, frustrated, overly-closeted jock exits too soon to hear the hockey coach's reaction to Dave's little speech.

"Karofsky… I can't have a homo on my team. I don't care how fucking good you are, that's just not _right._ And I think I'm actually saving you a lot of grief for kicking you off the tram now, before things get ugly and your teammates doing something God-awful to you," the coach says sternly, and a few players in the background frown seriously in agreement, or whistle their approval.

One even shouts, "You tell 'im, Coach! No fags in hockey!"

And really, Dave thought he'd be a hell of a lot angrier once this happened (if it ever happened, and it has). But he can't find it in himself to be half as disappointed or furious or ashamed as he had been in the past, because he's come to a revelation, has had an epiphany of sorts, and he could honestly care less.

Dave shrugs, strips off his borrowed padding and gear right them and there and shoves it in the coach's hands. "Here, take it back, then. I won't be needing it. You're all just homophobic freaks who need to get a life and realize that sports will mean nothing but a program to watch n TV in about three years, and that true love and all that jazz? Yeah, it's fuckin' _real _and limited to gender, and a whole lot more satisfying than playing with a bunch of puck-heads."

And he promptly storms out, eager to find Kurt and get the hell out of this place.

_Presently…_

Alyssa hands Kurt and Dave the ice cream cones she promised them the second Dave relayed the entire scene to them both, word for word, action for action. They're seated in a Culver's, the custard just as sweet and creamy and melty as ever, Kurt hurriedly lapping it up and ignoring (with a smirk) as Dave watches each and every movement.

"Kurt, if you keep eating your ice cream like that, I think Dave is going to faint due to lack of blood in his brain," Alyssa giggles around a nip at her cone.

Dave rolls his eyes. "Just because I find it adorable how he eats ice cream and am staring a little, doesn't mean I'm mega-turned-on and on the brink of jizzing in my pants, Alyssa."

"Uh-oh, Davey. I think we just succeeded in making Kurt the pinkest peach on the tree. Lookit his face: pricelessly mortified," Alyssa snorts a laugh, trying to cover her mouth to keep her food from spilling out. She swallows and shakes her head. "Oh God, you two. As much as I want to beat my ex's pathetic ass for outing Dave so rudely, I'm just way too amused right now to be very mad."

"Yeah… yeah, I know how you feel," Dave murmurs, idly reaching over to rub Kurt's back to sooth the embarrassment-induced choking sounds coming from his mouth as he sputters from inhaling his ice cream. "I mean, I just took some sort of huge step in doing that, right? It feels like I did. Feels like I hit some huge marker, or got handed some test, and I _nailed _it."

Alyssa nods around a lick of her cone. "Mm-hmm, mm-hmm!" she agrees, patting Dave's forearm for a moment. Swallowing, she clears her throat of the frozen treat to say, "I'm so proud of you, seriously. That takes so much courage I don't even –" and she cuts herself off, smiling. She looks to Kurt. "Right?"

Quietly, he nods. "Yes. I've stated repeatedly on the way here how proud I am of him. I'm still a bit in shock, actually."

"Why?" Dave wonders, and across from them, Alyssa looks on with keen interest.

Kurt's eyes flutter downward, then flicker over to the side to lock with Dave's as he turns slightly toward him in the sticky blue booth. "Because… that's something I wouldn't expect from you. It's shows how much you've come around, Dave. And… it proves how much you love me, all that you're willing to sacrifice; even your love of playing in hockey."

And Kurt looks away again immediately, not sure if he's going to blush again or cry, so he opts instead to focus on his ice cream. Alyssa silently melts on the other side of the booth, sighing softly to herself.

"I think I should go. I feel like I shouldn't be here for this. I'll see you guys again soon." Alyssa remarks gently, smiling warmly. She stands from her end of the table and takes a hearty bite of cone and custard. "Bye, lover-boys. Always stay this cute, okay?" And she blows them an air-kiss before skip-stepping out of the establishment.

The conversation carries on as Dave blinks away the realization that hey,. Alyssa actually knows how to read a situation sometimes. Then, slowly, he's shrugging it off and getting into the groove of doing that thing called _responding. _

"Hockey is just a hobby. I mean, yes, I like it a lot, but… I can always skate or practice on my own when I want to. Heh, I can even teach you the ropes sometime. It's not a big deal. I didn't lose much." Dave says, trying his best to make it out to be nothing, even though he is admittedly a little hurt by the one-eighty from his teammates, going from being on his side to another entirely, and just a little bit depressed that he won't get to be competitively in a sport anymore without at least one person shouting how a homosexual doesn't belong in a manly-man locker room. Pft.

Kurt glances at Dave again, his cone beginning to melt a bit in his hand since he stopped licking at it. "Dave… you don't have to pretend. I know how much hockey means to you. But you know, I find it so sweet that you stood up for yourself, and indirectly me, that I'm willing to overlook your I-care-not façade and take you up on that hockey-teaching offer, since I think it would be enjoyable for both of us. Agreed?" And he quirks an eyebrow, suddenly back to his usual self, his tongue flicking out to catch some stray drips of ice cream.

All of the tension lingering in Dave seems to disappear. "Deal. – Uh, I mean, yeah, agreed."

And Kurt simply smiles and nudges his boyfriend, saying, "Shall we return home, now?"

Around a nibble at his own custard, Dave gives a nod. "Yeah, I'm tired of this place. Let's go."


	22. Epilogue

**A/N: Whew! Finaly done with this fic! Now I can focus on... other things. X3**

**Thanks for sticking by me, you guys! I never imagined this fic would run this long, nor did I expect to recieve over 320 reviews! You guys are _nuts _but also rock _hardcore. _So yeah. Love ya'll. ;D**

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**Chapter 21.**

It takes Dave a moment to calm down, his heart still fluttering wildly in his chest. "You told him that?" he murmurs, "And he said he'd do that… for me?"

"You seem so surprised," Kurt smiles, skating alongside Dave while they slowly pass a bright orange puck between them. He reaches over and rubs one of Dave's burly forearms. "But my dad likes you, now. Respects you. He thinks it was great how you stood up for yourself, and like how I was discriminated against for being a boy to sing 'Defying Gravity,' you were discriminated against for being gay to play hockey. And that's not right, Dave. It might even be – no, I'm pretty sure it is – illegal. So my dad wants to help. He won't hire a lawyer, but he will threaten the school with one until they let you back on the team."

"Why would I want to rejoin a team that hates me?" Dave grumbles. "I mean, I appreciate your dad deciding to come down here and back me up on this, but it's just going to stir up the dog shit."

"They let this cruddy school smell a little revolting for a while if it means getting back your other love," Kurt states firmly, swinging back sloppily on his stick and attempts a shot at the goal. He just barely makes it, the fortunate timing and angle earning him a rebound goal off of one of the poles supporting the frame for the netting. He stops, cutting Dave off in his skate path, ice chips flying from his designer ice skates. "And don't deny that you love hockey. Just practicing here with you for the past week has shown me how greatly you ache for it. Miss it."

Dave sighs, turning on the ice more gracefully than Kurt even thinks he himself can do, and starts skating up the long end of the rink. "Fine. You caught me. I really want back on that team, but not with those assholes as teammates. Wish there was another way."

"There isn't. But if they warmed up to you once when you first joined the team, they can warm up to you again when you rejoin, even as a outed gay," Kurt answers kindly as he snatches the puck out of the goal. He struggles a little to race to catch up with the jock while simultaneously batting the puck between either sides of his stick. "Come on, Dave. Don't be stubborn. Things can work out if you let them."

"I just… feel like your dad will be fighting my battles for me, as though I'm hiding behind him."

"No, no! I used to think that, but really, my dad is like 'the big guns.' Sometimes, to fight your own war, you need to whip out an extra weapon."

Dave stops to look Kurt up and down. A smile just barely touches his features. "I guess you're right. Well, when he gets here, I'm going to give him my thanks. Your dad's cool."

"I bet your dad would be a welcome addition if you told him about this," Kurt murmurs. "I called my dad since he's e-mail impaired most times, but I suggest you send yours an e-mail since he's usually working. I bet he'll hop right on board, because he cares about you, and besides, I doubt he would like the idea of you being kicked out of a sport… especially because of your sexuality."

"Dammit, Kurt, why do you always have to make so much sense?" Dave laughs, taking the pass Kurt unprofessionally sends his way. And this is the end of one conversation, because soon they're stoking up some memories, mentioning people from the previous school year, before changing the topic to bands certain people of all types listen to, and how sometimes one person's taste in music doesn't reflect who they are or what they look like.

"Take Rachel Berry for instance: she listens to precisely the type of music you think she would. But Artie? He liked just about anything and everything, varying from rock to hip-hop to, well, '80s dance. Which was perfectly acceptable, because that way he seemed fine with anything the club decided to sing."

"My friends weren't like that. Azimio listened to nothing but rap like you'd expect, and everyone else just followed in his and my footsteps to keep in our good graces. We were feared, I guess. But I tried to be less-so come senior year," Dave mumbles as the two skate off of the rink and head for the vacant locker room to change.

Once they're back outside, Kurt suddenly stops and tugs on his roommate's sleeve. "Can we get something to eat? It's not quite dinner hour, I know, but I'm hungry."

"And I'm _always_ hungry, so I'm totally up for grabbing some grub. Whattya in the mood for?"

Kurt pauses to think about this, one of his fingers idly tapping his bottom lip, his eyes rolling to peer ay the sky, a sign, then return to Dave's face as he smiles. "I could really go for some barbeque pork ribs, actually."

Dave quirks an eyebrow. "Really? I expected to hear something along the lines of 'a Caesar salad' or something."

Kurt shakes his head, continuing his stroll. "Nah. When you grow up with a man like Burt Hummel for a father, you learn to like the rustic foods pretty quickly. Don't get me wrong, I love my healthy foods, but sometimes childhood kicks in and I really want a burger or something hearty."

"That's… awesome. Seriously, Kurt, you always surprise me in all the best ways," Dave retorts with a laugh. He doesn't even mind as Kurt catches up to him and takes his gloved hand. But even through the fabric, Kurt's are icy to the touch. "Hey, where are your gloves?"

Kurt shrugs. "Left them behind at the dorm. They didn't match my outfit."

"Kurt, you can't go around trading fashion for comfort. You're going to catch a cold," Dave scolds, a frown on his features.

The soprano shrugs and sticks his hands into the pockets of his fashionable little trench coat, Dave's hand joining one pocket as he keeps their fingers laced together. "I'll live. It's no big deal; I do it all the time. It just requires a little more hand lotion to keep out the drying cold, and a little warm-water hand washing to bring back the blood flow."

"That's ridiculous. For all that trouble you could've just, you know, worn _gloves_." Dave replies with a huff and a roll of his eyes. "_Here_," he grunts, and removes his hand to strip off his own gloves, "Take _mine._ They're fucking _black,_ which means they match _everything._ Do me a favor and wear them before your hands fall off."

At first, the shorter boy doesn't know what to say. But he soon takes the gloves and slips them on – the fingers are too long and sag a little at the tips, baggy in the palms, where Dave's hands are larger – and flexes his fingers to help absorb the leftover heat. "Thanks," he murmurs quietly. "You always take care of me."

"Yeah, well. Someone's gotta protect your scrawny ass," Dave grumbles, a blush making its way onto his cheeks. He swallows it down and shoves his hands into his pockets to keep his own hands from getting frostbite.

They walk across the busy highway to a rib joint, a place with a rather happy looking hog as a logo, despite the fact that said hog was probably slaughtered to make the food within. "Oh the irony," Kurt smiles, gesturing to the grinning pig. "And it looks so cartoony-cute, too. Too bad I'm going to eat it."

Dave chuckles – Kurt really is very funny sometimes – and idly shrugs off the hold on his arm the smaller college student has. Kurt pretends not to notice as they walk through the doors and get seated by a middle-aged waitress (thank Gaga, too, because Kurt's sick and tired of young, single girls hitting on either himself or his boyfriend, because neither of them are interested, and it sucks in that awkward way).

As they're seated, Kurt picks up the drink menu, idly wishing he could order a Piña Colada without the alcohol, but knowing most places have it pre-mixed, and besides, it's kind of expensive. He goes with a Sprite instead, while Dave orders a Coke. But as soon as the drinks arrive, a group of noisy guys come in, and suddenly Dave is shooting a glance across the table at Kurt that says it all. _'Here comes trouble.'_

It's Tyler and his goonies, a group of straight guys who are completely oblivious to Tyler's homosexuality. It takes them all but two minutes to access the situation: that glare their friend is sending the two boys in a nearby booth? Yeah, that's for a _reason._ And they want in on it.

Dave growls lowly under his breath, sinking lower into his seat. "I don't like this. If we hadn't already ordered, I'd just pay for the drinks and leave."

"Come on, Dave, I know you have more of a backbone than that," Kurt reprimands firmly. "What happened to the tough guy in you? The one who named his own fist The Fury?"

"…Kurt, as much as I like to boast about not taking no shit from nobody, I'd rather avoid some conflict sometimes. Like right now. We're, like, on a semi-date. I don't want to fuck it all up by getting in a fistfight with Jurcen, if it comes down to it," David mumbles in reply. He's frowning the entire time, his brows meeting together with scarcely a wrinkle between them.

The singer sighs through his nose and reaches across the sticky expanse of wood to nudge his lover. "Don't let it get to you. I'm sure that if we don't bother them, they won't bother us."

"Easy for you to say; you're not the one he outed in front of your entire hockey team," the jock snaps in reply, but instantly regrets it and allows his facial expression to melt into that of remorse and calm. "Oh my God, I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm just… so fucking angry at that douchebag. I want to knock his teeth in, make sure he swallows them, and then make him vomit them back up as I sock him one in the gut."

Kurt blinks and raises his brows, whistling lowly to himself. "Wow, Dave. Violent much?"

"…Sorry…"

Kurt shakes his head. "It's nothing. I understand. But still… try to calm down. I think our food will be coming soon, and the sooner it does, the sooner we can eat and be out of here so you don't have to deal with him."

"I hate to admit it, but… I just wish Alyssa were here. She always knows how to handle him, even if he hurt her once."

Kurt takes a sip of his Sprite, nodding mostly to himself. "Mm. So true," he agrees.

As if on cue from Kurt's earlier words, their food arrives. Kurt ever-so-daintily digs into his ribs, somehow managing to eat them gracefully, and Dave doesn't know how it's possible, but it is, and he doesn't even have to be cliché and reach over to dab sauce from Kurt's chin or cheeks, because the boy is eating his food so damn carefully. Dave shrugs it off and delves into his own plate, scooping up food by the mouthful and stuffing it past his lips. He doesn't even pretend to be any less ravenous than he is.

Surprisingly, as Tyler walks by (most likely to get to the bathroom a few booths past the roommates' table and down a hall beyond), he doesn't say anything. He doesn't make a swing at either boy, or toss a comment, or shoot a glare. He acts as though they aren't there, or they're strangers, and walks right on by.

"Huh. Weird. With the way he looked at us initially, I thought he might have intended to walk by with his sole objective being to harm one or both of us physically or verbally," Kurt remarks with an out-of-place casual tone. He completes his sentence with a suckle at one of his BBQ-sauce-coated fingertips, the popping sound of the digit leaving his lips like a period at the end.

Dave quickly adverts his eyes (once again caught staring at Kurt's bizarre-yet-attractive mannerisms, the singer sending him a smirk as he catches him) and uses his carbonated beverage to clear his throat. "I thought he was going to do one of those things, too. But I guess not. I'm glad, though; maybe he's finally starting to feel bad about being such an asshole to me."

"And me," Kurt interjects.

"And you," Dave amends with a nod, "But… _mostly_ me."

Tyler exits the bathroom soon enough, this time only sparing a single glance in David's direction, a clearly muddled-and-negative expression on his face as he does so.

"He was totally checking me out," Dave snorts sarcastically.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but he doesn't deny that he was sort of thinking of making the same exact comment. He finishes off his meal, lets Dave polish off his drink, and then they're asking for the bill. They thankfully leave the restaurant without consequence, and hopefully this is a sign that Tyler's days of harassment are over, and they can all go their separate ways.

Because sometimes things truly are that simple.

**XXX**

To say Kurt is just a wee bit suspicious and curious as to why Dave feels the need to leave the dorm room for nearly thirty minutes would be an understatement. He is more than intrigued, and finds himself pressed against the door, listening to Dave pace the hallway outside the room as he chats on the phone with somebody.

When David reenters the shared room, Kurt immediately leaps away from the door and plops onto his bed, taking a textbook lying there into his hands, as if he had been studying or doing homework. But Dave knows better.

"I was talking to my dad," he states coolly as he takes a seat on his own bed, their twin mattresses recently pushed away from one another again because they recently had friends over and didn't want to broadcast their sleeping together to the whole world just yet. The athlete runs his hands through his wavy brown locks and sighs through his parted lips. "He's furious." When Kurt sends him a worried expression, Dave hastily adds, "Not at me; at the school. He says there's a lawsuit there, but I dunno, I don't want things to get messy. I just want to play hockey again. It's not like I'm injured or anything; I'm just gay. What's so wrong with that?"

"Nothing, which is why our dads need to come here and help you get back on that team," Kurt states firmly. "But things might get messy, whether you like it or not, David."

"Yeah, yeah, I know; but still. Why me? Why couldn't this have been an issue for some other gay jock in the whole wide United States? Why does it always feel like these things happen to me?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Come on, don't victimize yourself. This is a big deal, but at the same time, it really isn't. So don't fret over it, all right? Everything is under control."

"I sure hope so."

"Have more faith in our parents. Both our dads have very strong qualities to them, and they know how to handle schools. I mean, just look at how my dad got you expelled but then your dad got you reenrolled! That's got to count for something, doesn't it? …I mean, despite the circumstances of the case. I know neither of us like to return to those hurtful memories," Kurt informs the other with a weak smile of assurance.

"You're right once again," Dave mutters under his breath. He flops back on the covers and closes his eyes. "I just hate it when things get all difficult on me. I'm lazy by nature, so anything that involves putting up an effort is… strenuous," he remarks idly.

He hears Kurt get up from the other bed and feels the mattress dip as the gleek sits down on the edge, near Dave's knees. Kurt's hand is suddenly a warm pressure on Dave's leg, working its way up his thigh. This catches Dave's attention, causing him to blinks open his eyes and lift his head to offer a wry smile.

"And just what are you up to?"

"Taking your mind off of what ails you," Kurt replies simply, and with a quick glance full of devious intentions sent Karofsky's way, it's all the jock can do not to snatch up the paler boy and pin him to the bed.

Instead, he props himself up on his elbows and gestures with a motion of his wrists for Kurt to come at him. Kurt complies easily, twisting his body to lie on his stomach, half of his torso leaning up against the broad width of Dave's chest. One arm wraps around beneath Dave's back as the other reaches up to touch his face, jaw, and neck, ducking down to skim across his collarbones.

Tonelessly, Kurt remarks, "You're getting a little stubbly. When did you shave last?"

Dave shrugs to the best of his abilities as he reclines backward, bringing Kurt further up his chest and holding him there, one thumb tucked into one of Kurt's empty belt loops. "A few days ago. I should probably shave the next time I shower, which will probably be tonight."

"Good, because I don't want sandpaper on my lips when I kiss you," Kurt smirks as he leans up and brushes said body part against the hollow of Dave's throat. He can feel Dave's vocal chords vibrate on the skin of his lips as the meatier boy hums his approval.

"Do I sense a make-out session coming on?" Dave whispers into Kurt's hair as he brings over his other hand, using it to curve around the shell of Kurt's ear and glide down into the back of Kurt's shirt, yanking its loose collar over the side of the singer's shoulder to expose the skin. He leans up, craning his neck a little to plant a kiss on that perfectly porcelain shoulder, loving how Kurt shivers minutely at the contact.

"Your Spidy-Senses are impeccable," Kurt murmurs mutedly in response. "Because that's precisely what's going to happen. After all, I think I deserve a little reward for being so good at practice today. And for coming up with the idea to include our fathers on the injustice going down at this college's oh-so-fabulous athletic field of learning."

"And you don't sound bitter or sarcastic at all towards the sports here," Dave snorts, smirking a little as he closes his eyes and presses another kiss to Kurt's temple.

Kurt shuts his eyes as well, and leans in to the touches, his free hand not supporting his body being put to good use of lifting Dave's shirt, because Kurt can honestly never get tired of that manly expanse of skin, the soft curls of hair on it oddly addicting and pleasing to the touch.

"I positively despise the sports here simply because I'm jealous that I'm not skilled enough for them, and because they wronged you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to stop talking for a while and get our minds off of this matter as I kiss you senseless."

"Hmm, I like that idea," Dave remarks with a grin as he watches Kurt undress him. Kurt sends him a look around his task, as if to say, _'I thought you would.'_

Dave assists the thinner male on top of him in removing his own shirt, and once the pesky garments are carelessly tossed onto the adjacent bed, Dave takes Kurt into his arms and rolls them over, succeeding in trapping the other youth beneath him. He goes to work with his tongue, sucking at a place on Kurt's chest he knows the singer likes. One large hand holds him up as the other strokes down Kurt's side, thumb running over a nipple, fingers dusting across the bellybutton. Kurt arches into each sensation, emitting a small sigh of pleasure now and again.

The hockey jock lives for moments like these: moments when no one is watching, no one cares, no one is around to make snarky remarks or harmful accusations. There's only David and Kurt, Karofsky and Hummel, and nobody else. The world becomes smaller, more manageable, and entirely free of loathing or discrimination. It's solely the two of them, and filled with nothing but love with a dash of lust.

Kurt yanks his boyfriend up for a lengthy kiss, one of his hands smoothing over the planes of Dave's back. He brushes his fingers across the waistband of Dave's jeans, grappling for extra leverage, or at least trying to bring their bodies closer together (since they feel to almost never be close enough).

David can't help himself; he moans a little, because he not-so-secretly loves it whenever Kurt takes the initiative, like he is in bringing them flush against one another in this moment. With a little added force, Dave attacks Kurt with toothy, wet kisses along his neck and collarbones and drifts slowly lower and lower, each graze of his teeth and mouth of his lips making Kurt squirm.

Breathlessly, Kurt brings Dave's mouth back to his – he can't stand to let that taste ever fade, whatever taste it is that makes David so very David – and makes quick work of running his hands over the front of Dave's chest before slipping his hands into the back of Dave's pants.

"Eager, are we?" Dave growls seductively into Kurt's ear, one of his brows quirking as he nibbles gently on Kurt's bottom lip and runs his tongue over Kurt's before retreating. "Let me help you with that."

"Glad you stopped being so shy," Kurt breathes huskily as he helps his lover undo both of their pants. He bites down a hiss as the fabric of his colorful skinny jeans tugs down over his cloth-covered erection; already half-hard from all the kissing and touching he can't seem to get enough of. "Because I really do love your body, Dave," he adds in a whisper, a blush rising to his milky cheeks.

Dave tenderly kisses the rose that's blossoming on Kurt's face and gives the final shrug to remove Kurt's pants. He kicks off his own jeans and rolls onto his side, bringing Kurt flush against him like the smaller boy likes. Kurt sighs, a near-moan, at the action, and snuggles into the embrace, purposely grinding his hips against his roommate's.

The jock swallows a responsive moan, his hips jerking forward on their own accord to rub back, the almost rough barrier of underwear between them both maddening and gratifying. He touches down Kurt's smooth, toned back and leans onto him slightly to suck on a collarbone. Kurt gasps and presses his rising member into Dave's hipbone, already seeking release with a hushed, nearly inaudible whimper.

Dave hand glides down to the needy area and slips under the fabric of Kurt's boxer-briefs. He teases the sensitive flesh before Slowly making his way down Kurt's torso with his lips brushing over skin. Then, finally, he guides Kurt's length out of the fabric and spreads Kurt's legs with one hand running along the shaved hairless surface of his thighs.

"W-wait, are you going to –" Kurt stutters, trying to ask around his speedy breaths. Dave's never given oral pleasure before, only received it; Kurt has this hunch that it's because a lingering piece of David still refused to acknowledge just how gay he is, but it seems they're past all that now that Kurt's been inside of the larger boy, and what's more, Dave stood up for himself to his teammates. And while the logic is there, in the heat of the moment, all Kurt can really think about around scattered clips of phrases is how fucking sexy Dave is from this bizarre angle.

"It's alright; it's not so much an obligation as it is an odd craving," Dave remarks with a smirk as he grips the base of Kurt's pulsing arousal in his hand. He glances up briefly to see if Kurt recognizes his own words being used against him. He does. And that's somehow the only indication Dave needs to proceed.

He ducks his head down and listens carefully for Kurt's reaction as he hesitantly, teasingly licks the head of Kurt's member, his lips barely wrapping around the surface. Kurt's legs jump a little, and he hisses something under his breath as he writhes a bit on the bed. And Dave is just a little too pleased, a hair too smug about how minute an action can affect his lover.

Without warning, Dave dares himself to take as much of Kurt into his mouth as he can in one go. Kurt releases a high keening sound akin to a musical note as he arcs off the mattress, his hands tangling themselves in the sheets as a rather red blush consumes his face. The soprano tries to find words to describe what he's feeling as Dave starts to work his tongue around the organ in his mouth, but Kurt finds that there are no words for this. Only feelings; sharp, burning, tingling, shiver inducing, beyond blissful, etcetera. His mind washes blank as he thrashes his head side to side as Dave starts bobbing his head, licking up and down, swirling his tongue, moving his hand around the base, and generally aiming to drive Kurt as insane as possible. It's working.

Kurt comes with a start, his body jerking forward and his lip being bitten down on by mistake, the over-stimulation of a moving hand and mouth on him and the other hand on his leg just too much to bear. Dave surprises his fuzzy/glowing-feeling boyfriend by swallowing the load, although Kurt doesn't miss the brief expression of distaste on his face, clouding his brows.

Dave slinks upwards and plants a kiss or two at Kurt's neck and ear before holding him close. Without hesitation, Kurt aims to return the favor by turning his naked body and grinding his backside up against Dave's boxer-covered member.

"_Shit_," the hockey jock curses in a moan under his breath. He shrugs his underwear down without a second thought, because _damn _if it doesn't feel good to have that smooth skin and taunt muscle of Kurt's ass rubbing up against him. He grips Kurt's thighs without a second thought, thrusting dryly upwards between the cheeks, not caring how messy or strange it might appear. It feels too good for him to care. But it would feel better with something acting as a lubricant to help ward off the addicting-but-lightly-painful friction.

Sensing the discomfort, Kurt leans away for as moment – smiling to himself as Dave groans in protest, already missing the contact – and digs around in Dave's headboard drawers for some lube he knows the other boy had stashed somewhere. Locating it, he artfully slathers some onto himself – unaware of how Dave's eyes track the movements and how the jock licks his lips in anticipation, his arousal distractingly aching to touch again – and crawls back over to lay back-to-front with David again, this time reaching behind himself to grip his roommate's length and add the remaining lubricant to it.

He then continues his grinding all too enthusiastically, one hand reaching behind his head to hold onto the back of Dave's neck while the other clings to the side of Dave's thigh to act as leverage where they lay. Dave burrows into Kurt's neck, inhaling the scent of his milky-pale skin and occasionally nipping at where neck meet shoulder or offering a stray lick to Kurt's earlobe as the gleek revolves his hips, rubbing and rubbing, driving Dave just about stir-crazy.

"Kurt," David unconsciously sighs as his orgasm overtakes his body, making him sling to the boy in front of him and shudder against him. A pang touches Kurt's heart when he hears his own name being called out in such a manner, and it's enough to make him want to – and act on the urge to – turn around, ignoring the seed spilled onto his lower back, and kiss Dave full on the lips.

The jock mumbles something indistinguishable into Kurt's mouth as his hands reach up to comb back Kurt's hair and cradle his face. Kurt breaks the kiss and asks as his blue eyes flutter open, "What did you say?"

"Nothin'," Dave mumbles as he peers at his boyfriend with half-lidded eyes. "Jus' that I love you. But you already know that."

"Doesn't mean I don't want to stop hearing it anytime soon," Kurt replies warmly.

**XXX**

Within the week, things were all sorted out. The school threw what could only be called a hissy fit as soon as they found out what the athletic department's head hockey coach had decided. They demanded that Dave be let back on the team (their reasoning _not at all _biased from the direct threats of reporting this case to a lawyer made by both Burt Hummel and Paul Karofsky, who were two rather livid and concerned parents; no, not at_ all_…), and that the team members not say a word to Karofsky about his sexuality lest it be automatically considered a hate-crime of slander or something else of the sort if any, more _physical_ actions be taken.

And that shut up everybody.

Because nothing quite makes a statement like holding hands in public and getting kicked-off-then-put-back-on-a-sports-team when it comes to sexuality. Nothing quite makes people buzz with gossip and suddenly want to become your best friend as you become an increasing celebrity/popular in general like these sorts of things. Nothing.

And while Kurt is somewhat soaking in the limelight the students offer ("We'd be honored if you and your boyfriend joined the Gay-Straight Alliance we have set up at school; we could use more people, and you two are such a hot controversial topic right now –"), Dave is weary and stubborn and acting very grumpy when it comes to all of these people showing false (some real, but mostly false) interest in himself and Kurt.

Ever the protective (essentially possessive) boyfriend, David makes sure to knock everyone down a few pegs and keep Kurt close to his side.

But aside from that, things are looking up.

They don't hear from Tyler again, save for indirectly from Alyssa. She's good friends with both Kurt and Dave now, and she acts as their link to the public opinion (outside of those buttering the couple up, of course) and their news station on other things. Alyssa informs them that Tyler is now attending a therapy session twice a week with a psychologist ("The ones that can't prescribe you pills like candy," Alyssa jokes) to work on his issues with using people, getting overly angry/jealous, and bottling up his sexual feelings towards the same gender. The psychologist himself is homosexual, and Alyssa says that she was the one to recommend him to her asshole ex-boyfriend.

"I think he'll be good for Tyler," Alyssa relays later on with an offhand wave of her wrist. "Lord knows that boy could use a gay role model right now."

And it still frightens Dave a little to think that, if not for Kurt, he might be in the same boat as Tyler. Cue a shudder.

Kurt decides not to entirely give up on Blaine as a friend, and opts to keep in touch now and then with the dapper-wannabe lad via the Internet. Last time Kurt checked, Blaine is back with Jesse St. James, oddly happy, and completely determined to make this rekindled relationship a steady, serious one; he doesn't want to be, as Kurt called him, "a big, gay slut." And, Blaine noted honestly during his and Kurt's most recent conversation online, "I think I really want to keep him. I liked Jason a lot, but I'll never see him again, and besides, Jesse and I are very compatible. I might even love him a little."

So there it is, out in the open, and Kurt is fine with it. Fine with the openness Dave shows more often; fine with the openness between himself and his friends; and fine with the openness of the school and sports teams in the boys' collective affairs, because, hey, as Kurt points out to Dave later, "At least now we don't have to idea anything. And I'm actually kind of fond of the idea of grossing some people out with our PDA antics."

It makes Alyssa happy at least, giggling in her amused-by-the-cute-gayness way she does. But it makes Kurt even happier, because college is turning out to be the best years of his life. And he bets his bottom dollar that Dave feels the same way.

Because even what begins in loathing can have a happy ending, if given the chance.

**END.**


End file.
